


The Longest Distance

by Darsynia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Humor, Marauder-Era and Hogwarts-Era, Mistletoe, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Time Travel, more like self-sacrificial thoughts but I wanted to make sure no one was triggered, this might be my favorite thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 76,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darsynia/pseuds/Darsynia
Summary: During his 7th year at Hogwarts, Remus Lupin fell in love with a mysterious transfer student who seemed to have a tragic past. The time he spent with her was precious and brief, and he was forever changed by it.Hermione Granger had been ready and willing to die in the past. What she wasn't prepared for was a second chance at a life she'd already laid down in an attempt to change the world for the better.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Remus Lupin
Comments: 108
Kudos: 259
Collections: Best of Remione





	1. Part I; Chapter One: The Roots

**Author's Note:**

> This story is influenced by [What Makes Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16557971) by Merlinsearlobe. I read that fic, at that point unfinished, and I became obsessed with the idea of what would happen next. So much so that I decided to incorporate that particular twist to the trope--that time travel is, or appears to be, fatal--into a story I had already started to write, but hadn't published chapters of, yet.
> 
> At the time of this writing, January 1, 2020, I haven't revisited their story since the chapter where their MC seemed to die. As I enjoyed that story, I hope to find out what happens in it someday! As you will see, my interpretation of the characters and the plot of this story are quite different from What Makes Us, but I wanted to give credit where credit is due: I wanted to find out what happened next so much that I wrote my own idea of what could have surrounded that plot point! 
> 
> I recommend reading What Makes Us!

##  Part I: The Wind’s Daughter

###  Chapter One: The Roots

**October 1977**

Remus Lupin shouldered his school bag and tucked the last of his notes inside its open pocket. He picked up the two large books he’d been using and headed back to the reference section to put them away. The students were instructed to leave these books on the ‘go back’ shelf, but Remus knew from experience that the clerks at Hogwarts’ library didn’t get to the go backs more than twice a day. By putting the books back himself, he was helping a future classmate find them more easily. He hated having to look all around the library in hopes that the book he wanted was simply waiting to be put away.

On the way to Reference, Remus passed a few dimly lit study alcoves. Hardly any students used these, because the sun shone brightly through the ones on the other side of the library. This year, though, Remus had seen that the darkest of the five was occupied more often than not. He recognized the girl as the new seventh year Ravenclaw, but he couldn’t remember her name. She was hunched over her book, her mass of black hair practically covering her face. The massive tome she was reading was illuminated by the light from her wand tip.

Usually, Remus wouldn’t say anything to someone in a study alcove, because he’d learned from Sirius and James that some students found it hard to focus after engaging in any kind of social behavior. Hiding in a dark corner of the library probably multiplied that ‘do not disturb’ sentiment tenfold, but something inside him prompted Remus to greet her.

“Good evening,” he said as he walked past. He didn’t stop, but he did slow down, and he was rewarded by the surprised look as she sat up, her eyes wide. Remus’s momentum carried him past her and out of sight before his own shock registered on his face.

He’d forgotten how disfigured she was.

Remus felt a surge of shame. He hoped that she hadn’t seen the jolt of recognition on his face when he remembered what was unique about her. Transfer students, as rare as they were, were usually sorted before the first years, but Remus and the other seventh years had learned about the Ravenclaw transfer when they had class with Ravenclaw, three days after the Welcoming Feast. She’d been sitting in the very last row, which she couldn’t have known was usually the place taken by the Marauders, in Transfiguration. Luckily for her, the back row in McGonagall’s class had five seats, so Remus, Sirius, James, and Peter had just split up and sat on both sides of her. Remus could still remember the way the young woman had curled her body around herself when she realized there were four boisterous wizards surrounding her.

When they had class again, she’d moved to sit at the desk closest to the door, and from that point on, she’d bolted out of it as soon as the class was dismissed.

As Remus walked back past the girl again on his way out of the library, he made sure to look over at her and smile. He hoped that she’d seen him, but felt that being any more obvious than that would be insulting to her. She knew what she looked like, after all.

He didn’t know why he was so drawn to her, but he figured it was probably because she reminded him of himself, during that first year at Hogwarts. He’d been so inwardly driven, practically terrified of his own shadow, before his friends --primarily James and Sirius-- had taken the time to help him feel more comfortable. They’d included him even when he hadn’t wanted to be included, and arguing with them about it just drew him out of his shell even more. Remus knew he was a better man because of this, and now he could see an opportunity to pay it forward. The scarred transfer student from Ravenclaw was older, though, and she would probably be a tougher nut to crack.

Remus winced as he climbed through the portrait hole to Gryffindor’s Common Room. Step one would need to be learning her name. He felt ashamed to be calling her ‘the scarred Ravenclaw Transfer student’ even in his own mind.

oOoOoOo

The next time Remus had NEWT Transfiguration, he chose the seat nearest to the transfer student. It just so happened that they were told to pair up for the lesson, and Remus was careful to look her in her eyes when she turned toward him.

“Hello again,” Remus said, trying to remind her that he’d greeted her in the library. As soon as he said this, though, he could feel the flush of embarrassment spreading across his face. What was he  _ doing? _ Did he want bonus points for having spoken to her in the past?

“Hello,” she said in a low voice.

Remus kept eye contact despite knowing his face was probably beet red. He probably looked uncomfortable, and he felt a bit relieved when she smiled at him, the deep scar that ran across her forehead, down through her nose, and right up to the edge of her lip making her smile a bit lopsided on that side. She had three scars that crossed her face, but the other two were closer together. They both must have barely missed her eye, the longer of the two starting just past the corner of her right eye, and the other just beneath it.

“Forgive me,” Remus said. “I can’t remember your name. I must have heard it at some point, I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” the girl said. “Of course.” 

Before she could answer him, though, Professor McGonagall came by to hand them the teapot they were to transfigure into a working trumpet. Remus could hear James and Sirius arguing about whether they were supposed to tip out all the water first.

“What? All over the floor? _ Honestly, _ Sirius,” James was saying.

“Iraja,” the transfer student said.

“Idajah?” Remus tried out. His ears flamed red again when she shook her head and said it again.

“Iraja,” she corrected. “You don’t have to do the soft ‘d’ on the R if you don’t want to. And I think we keep the water in.”

“Iraja,” Remus said. He thought it was a very pretty name, even if he couldn’t manage the soft ‘d.’ “I’m Remus. Would you like the first shot at transfiguring?”

He was sure he was imagining the split second of a fond look she shot him at hearing this. He needed some more time with her to interpret her expressions, maybe. The harsh lines her facial scars cut across her face obscured a lot of subtlety, he was sure.

When Iraja cast the specified spell, Remus felt a warmth in his stomach in hearing her confident tone. She clearly didn’t  _ have _ to speak in a quiet, low voice. Then, Remus’s jaw dropped.

On Iraja’s desk was an intact, shiny trumpet.

“Your turn to participate,” Iraja said, amusement threaded through every word she spoke.

Remus looked over at her. She was resting her head on her right hand, her fingers covering some of the scars, and the black hair that usually obscured at least some of her face was pushed back. Iraja looked  _ smug. _ She had a right to, too. Now, Remus was going to have to try to play the trumpet. He felt very neatly set up.

“I have no idea how to make this work, you know,” he told her.

“Oh, I know,” she murmured.

When Remus lifted the trumpet to his lips, the light that gleamed off of the metal seemed to call the attention of everyone in the room. He puffed out his cheeks in an attempt to mimic a trumpet player he’d seen once, but the sound it emitted was pathetic and embarrassing. He turned toward Iraja, and saw that she had retreated back into her shield of hair and uncomfortable body language, her legs crossed, hands clasped in front of her, up by her face.

“Well done, Mr. Lupin and Miss Perdita! Ten points to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw,” Professor McGonagall announced. “You may leave early, if you wish,” she said to the two of them as she came over to collect their trumpet.

“Thank you,” Remus said. He turned toward where Iraja had been only to find her desk was already empty. While he had observed her for long enough to know she jumped at the chance to escape social situations, Remus was still disappointed that she hadn’t stayed long enough for him to bid her a good day.

“Well, Mr. Lupin?” McGonagall said, her voice full of her trademark tartness. Remus realized he was standing beside his desk looking lost.

“Yes, Professor. Sorry, Professor,” he said automatically before grabbing his bag and leaving the room.

oOoOoOo

It was two weeks and a full moon before Remus was able to pull Iraja back out of the bubble she’d drawn around herself. During the time before the full moon, Remus hardly saw her at all; she’d taken to moving seats in each class instead of taking the same one, something Remus felt was related to their teapot to trumpet lesson. While ordinarily he could understand a person feeling the need to hide, with Iraja her withdrawal felt like a personal slight, and despite himself, he felt hurt by it. 

She’d  _ relaxed _ around him, and he’d really been delighted by the person he’d gotten a glimpse of. For her to seem so shaken by the way she’d revealed herself that she was finding ways to systematically avoid him was painful. It was as if he’d gotten through to the real Iraja, Remus thought, and she was scared to let it happen again. He had to content himself with observing her surreptitiously, which is how he found out that she was always deeply engaged in every lesson, her body language open and interested. More than once he thought she might be  _ sitting on her hand _ in order to avoid raising it when their professors asked questions!

Halfway through October their DADA professor, an oily man named Oliver Taedet, had them count off by fives to separate them into small groups. That was when Iraja’s tendency to avoid him blew up in her face. She was a ‘3,’ and so was Remus and James. The class only had seventeen students, and so the three of them made up the whole small group. Remus thought she might start hyperventilating when she saw what had happened.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” James said to her. Remus threw him a withering glare; the comment was, at its heart, a  _ werewolf _ joke, and they both knew it.

“How comforting,” Iraja said in her low, quiet voice. It almost sounded like sarcasm to Remus, but her face was a picture of studied calm.

A loud clapping sound echoed through the room, and everyone’s attention was drawn to the front of the room where Professor Taedet was standing.

“You should be in groups of three or four,” he said, glaring at Sirius, who had had the misfortune of being in a group with three Slytherin students. He was standing by himself, glaring at them. It was rotten luck.

“He can join us, sir?” James called out.

Remus thought he heard Iraja let out a gasp of dismay, but he was distracted by the way Sirius clambered over to their group and immediately slung an arm around both Remus and James’s shoulders.

“Yes, four, that’s fine, then,” Professor Taedet said, dismissively. “The GOAL,” he continued, shouting random words as was his habit, as if that would cause his students to pay closer attention, “--is to take turns casting the shield charm to PROTECT yourself. I don’t want SIMULTANEOUS casting, mind you. The key is unpredictability. Hence the MULTIPLE attempts. SO: alphabetically, wands at the READY, and spend one minute EACH, repelling each other with PROTEGO. You may BEGIN.”

“Well, I do BELIEVE that it will be Sirius BLACK who is first, in our group,” James said pompously, mocking Taedet’s odd vocal cadence.

“Disrespectful, Potter,” Remus said out of the side of his mouth, raising his wand and pointing it at Sirius.

“Bring it on, gits,” Sirius said, raising his own wand.

Remus tossed the first Tripping Jinx, which Sirius blocked easily, and James pretended to sneeze and cast a spell with a blue light within seconds, which was also repelled. Remus paused a few seconds to see if Iraja would cast, but she was looking at her feet. Sirius then blocked two red hexes in rapid succession from James, before suddenly he was on the floor, surrounded by a yellow light.

Sirius hiccupped, and a yellow bird flew out of his mouth and soared in an arc above their heads.

“Well DONE, Perdita. Ten points to Ravenclaw,” Professor Taedet boomed.

Remus, Sirius, and James looked at Iraja in astonishment. She was still looking at her shoes. Remus was pretty sure her lips were turned up in a tiny smile, though.

“NEXT!” came a call from the front of the room.

Remus had hardly lifted his wand before a blue-lit spell came firing from Iraja. He barely got the Protego up in time.

“Nice!” he told her. Without looking, Remus aimed his wand beside him and cast his shield charm, feeling rather than hearing the spell block his best friends’ hexes. He was quite proud when the professor called for the next person to stand at defense before any of his three opponents had gotten through to hex him.

Iraja crouched down, for her turn. It felt wrong to attack her, even more so when Professor Taedet came over as part of his rounds of the classroom.

“Come now, boys,” he chided them. “Miss Perdita is playing on your weaknesses here. The best way to COUNTER, is…” Taedet looked at Remus and flicked his gaze toward the other two. Their professor was standing behind Iraja, and he indicated that they should all attack at once. Remus was hesitant, but then he saw her gripping her wand, her other hand pressed to the floor as leverage. Her head was a mass of hair, and Remus realized that she wasn’t looking up. 

Iraja wasn’t expecting a directional attack at all.

At their professor’s slight nod, they all cast at once, and within a split second, she had cast a shield that appeared over her head and stretched around her body. She repelled all four attacks with it. It was impressive, but Remus immediately understood what had happened. She’d cast a  _ Totallus _ version of Protego, and Professor Taedet had somehow known she was capable of it. It looked like a stunt, something impulsive, but Remus wasn’t so sure about that.

“Excellent, excellent!” praised Taedet. “Five more points to Ravenclaw, and another five to Gryffindor for teamwork!” He turned to Iraja and held out his hand to help her up, but she stood in a smooth movement and turned to nod her thanks. In a quiet voice, Taedet said, “I am sorry I can’t award more for that, but we can’t foster insecurities in the others, now  _ can _ we?”

It was the end of class, and James spent so much time complaining about not getting his chance to show off that Remus didn’t get a chance to talk to Iraja for any longer than a minute.

“That was brilliant,” he told her with a grin, as they gathered their things.

“Just luck that I knew the spell, really,” she said dismissively. She did look up at him and smile, though, her black curls falling away from her face due to their height difference. The sun was shining through the windows high above them, and with the light on her face, Remus saw that her eyes were a deep chocolate brown.

As he walked to his next class, Remus felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t noticed her eye color before, he thought to himself, because he’d been distracted by her scars.

He thought about her eyes before he fell asleep that night. He pictured her happy, at ease, pulling back her black mane of curls as she smiled at him for some reason or another, the light in the room causing her brown eyes to sparkle.

oOoOoOo

**November 1977**

November’s trip to Hogsmeade was always a big one for the Marauders. For one thing, November was not as obvious a month to gather Christmas prank supplies, compared with December. For another, Sirius’s birthday was in November, and while it had already passed, it was still his birthday week when they walked into Honeydukes on the fifth of November.

Remus, as he always did, made a beeline for the chocolate. James didn’t know, but his mother Dorea always gave Remus a little sack of ‘sweets money’ every year at the Hogwarts Express. He’d protested the first year she did it, before his and James’s third year at Hogwarts. 

To his utter horror, on his fourth year, the sack was three times larger. 

Dorea was a true Slytherin. She’d just stood there and watched Remus decide what to do. If he objected, would she hand him a sack three times larger  _ again,  _ next year? And if he recognized that pattern, as a Gryffindor, could he  _ let _ her manipulate him, by choosing to reject her generous gift? He had been completely and utterly outmatched, and both he and James’s mum had known it.

Now, standing in front of the different chocolate options, Remus found himself thinking of Iraja. He wondered if she would be offended if he brought her a chocolate bar, and decided on the spot that she  _ couldn’t _ hate chocolate with eyes that exact color. He bought a few pieces for himself, and when he went to find the others, he cast a stasis charm on Iraja’s, so that it wouldn’t melt with his body temperature. This turned out to be a mistake.

“Why do you suddenly care so much about that bar of chocolate?” Peter asked him loudly.

Remus turned to his short friend and decided to grab him in a bear hug. “Jealous?” he asked, spinning their bodies. It was much more unbalanced than when he used to do this, as both of them had grown-- Remus up, Peter  _ out. _

“I’m always jealous of how you handle your food, Moony,” Peter teased him. “Someday, I want a woman to look at me like that.  _ Ravenous.” _

“It’s not as sexy as you think, Wormtail,” Sirius cut in. “I’ll tell you: when a woman looks at you like that, you both better agree on what counts as ‘rough.’ If they’re a Slytherin or a Ravenclaw, there’s a chance of bruising.”

“Here comes a comment about Lily,” Peter whispered to Remus. Sure enough, he was right.

Remus and Peter traded looks as James waxed rhapsodic about how Lily used to hit him and leave bruises before they started to get along as Head Boy and Girl. By the evening, Sirius had conned Rosmerta out of a bottle of Firewhiskey, and Remus had to walk back solo to keep his Prefect identity plausible. James as Head Boy did not, but he was a special case, and Remus felt like Albus had known what he was getting when he chose James. That was far above Remus’s perview in any case.

oOoOoOo

Remus had made an agreement with himself when Iraja had stopped sitting in predictable seats in Transfiguration. He’d decided to avoid walking past her nook in the library at all costs, because he could tell by how skittish she’d been in class that she was more willing to inconvenience herself in the long run than deal with social situations in the short run. His vow not to do this was sorely tested after Hogsmeade, however. 

It was as if Iraja  _ knew _ he wanted to speak with her. By the time he cornered her in the library the day before the full moon, Remus was past the point of being subtle. Her chocolate bar was burning a metaphorical hole in his pocket. He’d taken to carrying it with him everywhere after he’d miraculously gotten a seat next to her in Ancient Runes. He had searched his bag completely three times to no avail. His own chocolate had been gone by a week after Hogsmeade, and Sirius had gotten their Map confiscated during the revels after his birthday. Without it, Remus didn’t dare sneak back and forth to Hogsmeade just for chocolate, and while Sirius was willing to do it, his price was too high, even if it was Dorea Potter’s money paying for it.

So when Remus walked bodily into Iraja on his way into the library and her way out, he grabbed her hand and dragged her as gently as possible into one of the light-filled study nooks by the front door.

“You! I have something for you, and you’ve been avoiding me like I have Dragon Pox. You need to cut that out!” he said breathlessly.

“Goodness, Remus! Breathe,” she told him. She brushed back a curl from in front of her face as it fell back down once, then twice, and by the third time she had a look of adorable fury on her face. 

Though she was categorized in his mind very firmly as ‘Friend,’ he’d told himself Iraja was not in the same  _ physical _ category as James, Sirius, or even Lily. None of his Gryffindor friends had much of a sense of personal space, but Remus knew instinctively that Iraja did, much more so than most other people. Her cuteness when angry was a distraction that led him to forget himself, though. He reached out and lifted the offending curl, sliding it into her other hair over her ear, and then burying it with another handful laid atop it.

Then, he realized what he had done. “Shit, Iraja, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

“No, it’s fine,” she said, unexpectedly. “I was on the verge of burning it off, at that point. My temper is at an all-time high today, for some reason.”

Remus brightened. “I have  _ just the thing.” _ He produced the bar of chocolate, casting  _ Finite _ on the stasis spell.

“Remus Lupin, did you save your last chocolate bar for me?” Iraja said. Her voice was low and affectionate, and Remus was startled by how much it affected him.

“It wasn’t the last when I bought it, but you have a way of slipping out side doors and hiding in rooms full of people, did you know that?” he told her, leaning forward to say it as if sharing a secret.

She leaned over, too. “You noticed that, did you?” Iraja took the candy bar from his hand, and he was disappointed that she hadn’t touched him.

_ Must be the full moon, _ he thought to himself. He was never this affected by girls, not anymore. During fifth year, he’d had a tough time calming the reactions from his hormones, balancing them with the drives from his wolf, but that was a long time ago.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, and a different curl from the other side started to slowly slide down over the scarred side of her face. Remus felt the laughter start to bubble up inside him, and he could see her lips twitching, but they stayed still and waited until finally, gravity took hold and the long, heavy curl swung down and hung right in front of Iraja’s face.

Both of them burst into laughter, earning them a shush from Pince.

“All right, that’s  _ it,” _ Iraja said. She sat down and then hooked her thumbs along the edges of her mass of hair, gathering the straggling curls and pulling all her hair up and back, off of her neck. She held it there, a look of complete relief on her face. 

Remus sat, too, and just enjoyed getting to see Iraja at (he assumed) her most normal. She looked like she’d accidentally forgotten the manufactured distance that she placed between herself and everyone else.

“That was wonderful,” she said, after letting her hair drop back down. “I told myself the best way to keep to myself is to have so much hair that the threat of possible hairballs would keep everyone else away, but I forgot how much I cannot  _ stand _ how heavy it is!”

Adrenaline surged through Remus’s veins, and under the study table, he clutched onto the chair he was sitting on to help hide the tension. He had been right, she  _ was _ setting up a sort of barrier between herself and others. He also knew that meant she would soon erect it, and if past was prologue, she’d flee from him for even longer than she had since the last time.

“I wish you didn’t feel the need to do that with me,” he said, choosing his words as carefully as his anxiety would let him. “We could, I don’t know… have a special word or phrase you could say when you need me to back off?”

Iraja had gathered most of her hair over one shoulder and was carding through it with her fingers spread wide. She paused mid-stroke and looked at him, her brown eyes wide.

“Don’t retreat again, please?” he asked her, as close to begging as he’d ever been with someone who wasn’t a Marauder.

“Oh, don’t go all puppy eyes on me,” she finally said, reaching out and squeezing his hand. Her touch was energizing; not quite the ‘punch to the gut’ that James had always said about Lily’s, but it was not nothing. His hand had been palm flat to the table, and he just knew that if he turned it over she’d move hers, so he just sat there and let the new things he was feeling wash over him. 

“You’ve trained me very poorly, then. I’ve learned to use underhanded tactics to try to befriend you,” Remus said, tracing the wood grain of the study table with the fingers of his free hand. He risked a look at her face, and saw how conflicted she was. She was looking at where they were still touching, and there was a mix of happiness, guilt, and confusion on her face. Part of this discernment was how close he was to the full moon day, as he always felt more attuned to hormones and body language during those few days before and after. Was he imagining the affection he sensed from her? “Have I succeeded, then?” he asked her.

Iraja snatched her hand away from him as if she’d only just now started to feel the fire he’d felt smoldering there. “Succeeded?” she prompted, looking defensive. She shrugged her shoulders, and her hair cascaded back down, partially covering the scarred part of her face.

She was retreating from him again.

Remus thought about the body language his friends had told him they’d used to help his werewolf self feel comfortable around their Animagus forms. He set both hands down on the table, palm up this time, directly where she could see them. Next, he ducked his head, angling it to the side a bit, subtly exposing his neck. Finally, he used gentle, clear, concise language to speak to her, hoping she would understand that his goal wasn’t to insult her intelligence in the process.

“I want to be your friend, Iraja. I’m not going to push you, though. I can see that you have trust issues, and I respect them. I’m going to get up and walk away now. I’ll see you in class.”

Remus stood, and risked a glance at her. She was looking down at her lap. He opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped himself, and instead, he lifted up his bag back onto his shoulder. He tapped the table gently with his first two fingers as a kind of goodbye to her, and started walking away, only to feel her small hand grab his just as he moved past her. She pushed something into his hand, curled his fingers around it, and then let go.

Remus opened his fist to find that she’d placed a square of chocolate there.

“That’s got to be the best peace offering I’ve ever seen! Thanks,” he said over his shoulder in her direction. Then he popped it into his mouth and walked out of the library.

It wasn’t until he’d walked into the common room that he remembered that he’d been going  _ into _ the library, not leaving it, when he’d run into Iraja. Remus looked at the hand she’d put the chocolate into and saw there was a little melted smudge left. He licked the sweetness away and felt the same jolt of awareness as he had in the library. His new friend definitely had him all turned upside down.

oOoOoOo

“You were pretty restless last night, Moony,” Sirius said when Remus had dragged himself up the last of the steps to their dorm room the day after the full moon.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” Remus asked him tiredly. “Just because I have dirt on you doesn’t mean I won’t give you detention for skipping.” He fell sideways onto the bed, avoiding the wound on his other side. He’d never tell anyone about Sirius’s Animagus form, of course, but he had to keep his friend in line  _ somehow. _

“You’re knackered, Remus. I’m the one with dirt on  _ you,” _ Sirius said, coming over and helping Remus off with his shoes. “And it’s Saturday.”

Remus blinked at him. “It is?”

“Something is up with you, and I  _ will _ find out what it is,” Sirius declared. Remus closed his eyes, but he was shaken awake what felt like seconds later by Sirius, who handed him a scroll.

“You slept through the owl at the window,” Padfoot said disapprovingly.

“Can’t imagine  _ why,” _ Remus grumped, but he took the scroll and slid the ribbon off. “Sirius? This is private,” he said, knowing his friend would get upset at him, but he was not willing to have Sirius reading over his shoulder once he saw who it was from. Luckily, Sirius nodded and said something about finding James and Peter outside and started for the door. Right before he shut it, though, Sirius called out to him.

“Strange thing-- there was no owl this morning at breakfast. Almost like whoever it is waited till they knew you’d be more likely to be awake.”

“Piss off, Padfoot,” Remus said automatically.

“Oh, it’s  _ definitely _ from a girl.” Sirius left, slamming the door as punishment for Remus, who winced at the sound. That was shorthand for an unfinished conversation. 

Remus turned back to his letter. He wanted to read it and then hide it instead of saving it for after he slept, as tired as he was. Sirius wasn’t beyond snooping when he had something to figure out.

* * *

> _  
>  Remus,  
>  _
> 
> _ You might have noticed that I keep relaxing around you, despite myself. I think that means we’re friends? _
> 
> _ I have many reasons for keeping to myself, but I liked your suggestion. The name Iraja means ‘the wind’s daughter.’ That can be our phrase. _
> 
> _ I will do my best not to use it like a weapon, if you promise not to take it as a weapon used against you. It’s our agreement, after all. The phrase is your suggestion with my implementation; that’s teamwork. _
> 
> _ There are some NEWT half-year’s exams coming up in a few weeks. Would you like to study for them together? I know a secret about the dark study nooks. How about Wednesday? _
> 
> _ Iraja _

* * *

Remus smiled so wide his face hurt. He flattened out the parchment her letter had been written on, then conjured an equal size parchment. In a minute or so, he’d folded the second into a rudimentary envelope, which he tucked Iraja’s letter into. Then he  _ Accio’d _ his Ancient Runes textbook and stuck the envelope inside. 

Sirius had a blind spot for looking for contraband in textbooks. He always had.

Secure that his letter from his new friend was safely hidden, Remus levitated the book back to his trunk and settled down to sleep off the night’s activities. He’d reread the letter later. Probably multiple times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story arc will be complete at around 60,000 words, and is currently half-written with the entire story plotted out (unlike certain other WiPs I started posting impatiently). I have six full chapters written as of 1/1/20.  
> === ===  
> Title comes from a quote from Tennessee Williams' Glass Menagerie:  
> 'Time is the longest distance between two places.'  
> === ===  
> I couldn't resist using the 'Dorea and Charlus' versions of James Potter's parents! #headcanon  
> === ===  
> Hermione's name in the past is quite odd, but story-wise, it fits with her determination to be unrecognizable and mostly avoided. 'Iraja' ('ee rah jah') means 'the wind's daughter,' and 'Perdita' is Hermione's mother in Shakespeare's A Winter's Tale. It also means 'lost.'


	2. The Seedling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus continues to draw Iraja out of her shell, and they become study partners. He discovers that she is working on a project that is deeply concerning.

###  Chapter Two: The Seedling

Since the full moon had been a Friday, it wasn’t until Sunday evening that Remus saw Iraja again, this time at dinner. The long tables for Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were beside each other, and Remus usually sat with his friends during the week. Informally, though, the weekends, especially Sundays, were the days that students tended to sit wherever they wanted, throughout the Great Hall.

When Remus walked into the Great Hall for dinner on the twenty-seventh of November, he had the ability to walk straight over to where Iraja was sitting and either sit across from her with his back to the Hufflepuff table, or sit beside her with his back to Gryffindor’s. He was cognizant of the carefully constructed bubble of space around her, though. Who was he to announce to the entire population of the Hall that he was a person Iraja Perdita allowed to interact with her freely? This kind of thought process wasn’t natural to him, not anymore-- not since he’d been a first year and terrified that anyone who sat near him would somehow have some kind of internal magical werewolf detector.

James Potter in particular had been the threat to Remus’s own bubble of space. James hadn’t seemed to  _ ever _ worry about the effects on Remus when it came to social standing, good or bad. James had been mostly focused on finding Remus personally interesting, which had necessitated learning as much as possible about him.

Remus remembered being terrified about this development. It had worked out just fine, of course, but the memory of how afraid he was while sitting beside James Potter at the Gryffindor table barely three weeks into his first year at Hogwarts was strong. The taste of that fear in that moment in time was so strong that he knew which place  _ exactly _ that he’d been sitting.

And it just so happened that it was almost directly across from where Iraja was sitting right now.

Remus walked over and sat down in that very spot, but before he completely settled in, he looked over to where Iraja was sitting. As he had hoped, she saw him, and waved. Maybe next time he would sit with her.

When he finished eating, he started to get his belongings ready so that he could take his dirty plate and utensils up to the kitchen, the tradition on Sundays. He was so focused on that task that when he turned around after dropping them off, he almost ran right into someone. It was Iraja.

He tried to apologize to her, but she shook her head with a smile that pulled on her scars just a bit.

“No, don’t,” she said in response to his quickly spoken excuse that he was not really focused on where he was and who he was around. “It’s a compliment, Remus. So many people make careful note of where I am, you see. Fading into the background is a luxury.”

“You aspire to be a wallflower?” Remus asked her, walking beside her as they headed for the big doors at the back of the Great Hall.

“Just watch,” she said, placing a light hand on his upper arm, which was unexpected progress for their friendship. He nodded to her that he’d watch her, but inwardly frowned. Remus didn’t want to lose what small amount of time he had with her, and he didn’t know if she’d catch back up to him after whatever it was that she wanted to show him.

Then, she started walking toward the doors.

When the Marauders walked through the school as a pack, they would joke about how it seemed like everyone somehow knew where they were and moved out of the way instinctively. Once, Peter had asked James if he’d cast some sort of way-making spell. It was a source of amusement, even though by now Remus knew it had more to do with the students not wanting to make themselves targets in any capacity. Most students did not want to end up drawn into the pranking and social nonsense that he and his friends tended to wield like weapons of favor and disfavor. That was nothing like what he was watching with Iraja now, though.

People moved, just like he was used to. They moved with purpose, though. The students had various expressions on their faces, and the majority of them were actually sympathetic. Everyone moving out of the way appeared to be doing it because they wanted to be kind. As a whole, though, the effect was to isolate Iraja as though she were some sort of phenomenon.

Remus stood and watched for a long minute, but then he ran to catch up to her. Even when he reached her side, a group of Slytherin students standing just outside the double doors sidled away from them, veiled looks of disgust or dismay on their faces.

“Iraja,” Remus said, a little out of breath from rushing. She turned toward him, and he was a little gratified to see that she didn’t seem too upset. He wondered if that was because she’d trained herself not to be. 

“As you can see, you might be the first person I’ve run into at Hogwarts, ever,” she said, laughing. It was a short, enchanting sound.

“It’s  _ November. _ It’s the  _ end _ of November,” he said, his voice clearly upset despite his determination not to show how unhappy he was on her behalf.

“September wasn’t much different,” Iraja said. She turned away from him to look in her bag for a minute. “And here, I thought it would help keep me anonymous,” she muttered, her low voice almost imperceptible except for the way the full moon wolf instincts had been amplified so recently that he still had residual effects.

Remus decided to trust that she’d said it in a quiet voice because it wasn’t something she wanted him to hear, and he didn’t comment on it. Without drawing more attention to what she’d just showed him, though, he wasn’t sure what to say. Then, suddenly, he knew  _ just _ what to say to her. He had to hope that when she heard his plan, she wouldn’t be offended though.

“I don’t know what to say to convince you to spend more time with me,” he said. “I’ve finished my work due tomorrow, and I think I know you just enough to assume you’ve finished yours, too. Do you want to walk somewhere and talk?”

She stopped in the hallway where they’d been walking toward the grand moving staircase. Iraja looked at him with a mixture of amusement and the expected reluctance.

“All right,” she said after looking at him for a full minute. He felt like he’d managed to unlock an unlockable door. “Where?” Iraja asked him.

From anyone else, it would have sounded combative, Remus thought.  _ To _ anyone but him, perhaps it would have been. Remus felt that he genuinely understood her, and she seemed to trust him enough to be herself, which felt like a gift. He was still nervous though. 

“I have an idea, but I don’t know if you’d approve,” he said.

“Are you going to ask me if I want to have our chat in the Astronomy Tower, Mr. Lupin?” Iraja asked him with a note of impudence in her low voice. He found himself speechless for a long moment, blinking at her with a blush forming on his face.

“Yes, actually,” he said. His heart started beating faster when her response was to lay a light hand on his arm, looking up at him with a crooked smile on her face.

“I’m not much for rule-breaking, but today feels different. Today, I’m sick of feeling lonely. Lead on.”

Iraja was teaching him all about things he had never really thought about before. As they spoke in quiet voices on their way up to the Astronomy Tower, he saw curiosity on the faces of his fellow students. Whether it was related to her facial scars or not, Remus knew that Iraja was known to be very quiet and private. It meant a great deal to him that she was smiling and speaking to him, one hand on his arm at times, the other gesturing in a natural, open way as she spoke. He was proud that she’d chosen him as someone worthy of breaking that behavior pattern for. Remus wondered if that pride was akin to the pride Sirius had spoken of a few times, that of having a pretty girl talk to you where everyone could see it happening.

At the top of the tower it was quite dark; the sunset was nearly complete in the far distance. The circular expanse of the tower was known to be a refuge for kissing couples because of its odd folding architecture that created so many dark nooks and hiding places at the very top. Remus heard the murmur of voices from a few of those spaces, but it was early evening and he hadn’t come to act as a Prefect. 

“Here,” Iraja said, reaching down to grab his hand and pull him where she was pointing. Almost as soon as she touched him she dropped his hand as if she’d been stung by something.

“I felt that, too,” Remus said without thinking. He had. There had been a feeling of sizzling magic that seemed to enhance the sensation of touching each other.

Iraja had been steps ahead of him, which is why she’d reached down to pull him along in the first place. Now she turned around and looked up at the sky, then over at Remus. Her eyes widened, and then she walked over to him.

“Look,” she said. “Raise your hand up, like mine.”

She positioned herself shoulder to shoulder with him-- or, more accurately, shoulder to bicep. Iraja lifted her right hand and held it up above her head, palm down. Remus mirrored her, holding his left hand an inch or so away from hers. 

“Now, watch,” Iraja said in a hushed voice.

For a full minute, he didn’t see anything. He heard Iraja catch her breath, beside him. Then, he saw it. A very small spot of light floated up and sank into his hand.

Remus drew in a breath to say something, but Iraja made a barely perceptible ‘shhh’ sound. As they watched, more sparkling points of light floated over and sank into them. They stood and watched this happen for many minutes in silence. Around them, Remus could hear the sounds of his classmates laughing quietly, sometimes even moaning.

“I think is happening all around us, in our hair, our legs, everywhere,” Iraja said quietly.

“What are they? What do they do?” Remus couldn’t help but ask.

“This.”

Iraja slid her uplifted hand into Remus’s, palm to palm. It was an incredible feeling; pleasure shot through his body, centered on his hand. He felt like he went from low level pleasant feelings to a hundred percent aroused, almost painfully so.

“Oh, I didn’t realize it would… oh,” Iraja said. She buried her face in his arm, and Remus had trouble focusing on his breathing. “It’s a spell or something someone released into the air, I think.” Her words were muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

_ “Merlin,” _ Remus said, folding his fingers over between hers and drawing their joined hands down to hold them against his chest. “Does someone cast this every weekend?” he asked in wonderment.

Iraja started laughing and pulled her face away from his sleeve to look up at him. “How of all people could I possibly know that?” she said, between giggles.

“No, no, I meant do you  _ think _ they do…  _ shit,” _ Remus said. He felt bad, but she was still laughing, and it was infectious. She also hadn’t pulled her hand away, and he started brushing his thumb against the back of her hand. Eddies and swirls of sensation circled out from that contact, and his breath hitched. “This has got to be against the rules,” he blurted out.

She was looking at their joined hands as if mesmerized. “It’s something, that’s for sure.”

“I should clear this whole place out; something this powerful is bound to be unhealthy,” Remus whispered to Iraja. He leaned over to whisper, not wanting to disturb the other students bewitched by the same effects. She’d turned her head when he started speaking, and the red blush that suffused her face at his closeness was very attractive. 

It was impossible not to think about what kind of pleasure they would both feel if they did more than just touch hands.

The problem with that was what he knew about her behavior patterns. Iraja would probably spontaneously create her own Invisibility Cloak and wear it every waking minute if she knew that thought had run through his mind. Despite how much he wanted to just stand there and continue to brush pleasure across the back of her hand, Remus knew he needed to go into damage control mode.

“All right. How do we get out of this situation with our dignity and something resembling a friendship?” he asked her bluntly.

“Oh, Remus,” Iraja said, affection threaded through her voice in a way that made him love the sound of his own name. “Have I taught you to be afraid of what might make me run away?” She tugged at her hand in his, and he let go, even though it was very difficult.

“Yes,” he admitted.

Iraja lifted her hand and brushed his hair back from his eyes. It felt wonderful. Then, his heart almost stopped as she lifted herself up on her toes and put her hands on his shoulders. “Trust the wind’s daughter: I’ll come back, I promise,” she whispered in his ear, right before she kissed his cheek. He shut his eyes against the intense sensation of feeling her lips on his face. When he opened his eyes again, she was gone.

He stood there for a long few minutes just recovering from how it had felt to be so near to Iraja with whatever sensation-enhancing magic was at play around them. Finally, he turned toward the stairs and started walking to the Headmaster’s office. He was still a Prefect, after all, and he could think of at least ten different ways that arousal magic could be mis-used just by its mere presence in the air in a place like the Astronomy Tower.

When Remus slept that night, he dreamed of turning his head just at the right moment and catching Iraja’s lips in a kiss.

oOoOoOo

**December 1977**

Remus was careful not to be over-enthusiastic the next few times he was able to greet Iraja in the hallways. He wondered if she saw the same, new kind of warmth in his own eyes when they saw each other, now. 

As usual, Sirius, James, and Peter started to tease him when they were assigned a Transfiguration essay that first week of December, but  _ not _ as usual, Remus was actually excited about it. As Animagi, his friends were always delighted by the chance to write about the process for their essays. As a werewolf, Remus always felt somewhat left out, despite how honored he was by their achievements to become Animagi in the first place.

This time, though, he had a library buddy.

That first day, he felt foolish for even going, given that they still had three weeks to work on it. The anticipation was too powerful, though, and he couldn’t stop the delighted grin from breaking out across his whole face when he saw that she’d chosen a dark alcove that had space for two.

“Let me guess,” Iraja said when he produced a large Transfiguration tome to put on the table between them. “You want to get started now, on the  _ first day, _ even though you still have three weeks to go?”

“Tell me you don’t have an outline already, and I’ll do three laps of the Quidditch pitch,” Remus retorted.

“Does the outline have to be completed?” she asked archly.

“You phrased it as ‘the outline,’ which means you started one, so I’m right,” Remus said. He put his hands behind his head and leaned back, smug.

“Smug is a good look for you,” Iraja said. 

He blushed, and saw that she was blushing, too. Neither of them said anything as Remus set out his books, quills, and parchment beside hers. It took him much longer than usual to focus on his task, but he didn’t mind a bit.

They met to work on their essays every day.

After a week of this, the rest of the Marauders stopped ribbing Remus for looking forward to working on his essay, and started teasing him because they saw less of him in the evenings. He assured them it was temporary, but that thought felt oddly uncomfortable, so he resolved not to think about it.

It was much more pleasant to think about how Iraja had started to physically relax around him a bit more. A week and a half since they’d started meeting at the library, she stiffened beside him and shot one of her hands up to her forehead.

“Headache?” he asked.

A sad look crossed her face and Iraja shook her head. “Not really. I didn’t think they would start already, actually. I’m…” She broke off, one hand coming up to cover her mouth, and he scooted over closer to her, feeling helpless. Then she rested her head on his shoulder, a position he never would have imagined she would have been all right with even three weeks prior.

“I wish I could make it better for you,” Remus told her.

“Me too.”

oOoOoOo

Iraja had more sudden, sharp pains than she let on, Remus discovered. They weren’t only in her head. He saw her stop in the hallway once, a shocked look of pain on her face as she held her ankle. Their eyes had met across the sea of students in between, and his expression must have been questioning enough for her to shake her head against his unspoken offer of help. Another time, Remus was a few steps behind her in the library as they replaced their books after research. She dropped a large one very close to her foot, and when he caught up to her, she was shaking her left hand as if she’d gotten stung.

These instances were concerning. Remus wondered if she was suffering residual effects from whatever attack had caused the scars on her face. Werewolf bites were one of the few magical injuries that weren’t possible to heal fully. It was rare, but they could manifest as long scratches like the ones Iraja had. He didn’t think hers were caused by a werewolf, though. They looked like claw marks, but he couldn’t imagine what kind of creature could have left injuries like that which weren’t able to be magically removed by one way or another. He supposed that it was possible that Iraja could have been stuck in a remote place and unable to obtain more specialized magical treatment. He wouldn’t dream of asking her about it, though, so all of his thoughts remained just that, internal speculation.

On their last day of classes before the break, Remus realized he was going to have to either fake an illness in front of Iraja or be inexplicably missing for much of the school’s Christmas Day activities. They had already spoken about the fact that both of them would be remaining at school for the end of year break. 

For the last few years, this hadn’t actually been the case-- he’d been welcomed at the Potter residence along with Sirius for Christmas and New Years. This year, though, the full moon fell exactly on Christmas Day, and he’d felt like that would have been an imposition. He’d been delighted to find out she would be remaining behind as well, but now he was worried about making a bit of a false promise. He would be staying behind, yes, but he wasn’t going to be much of a companion for Christmas.

He was distracted by this dilemma while gathering his supplies, and he ended up being late. To his surprise, Iraja showed up a few minutes after he did.

“Got distracted. I really love the Ravenclaw common room. The enchanted stars in the sky above the couches are, quite honestly, mesmerizing,” she told him in that low, vibrant voice of hers. “It’s not as homey as the Gryffindor common room, mind you, but it’s got its own charm.”

Remus stared at her. She didn’t seem like she knew she’d said something out of place at all, and she even stuck the very end of her favorite chewing quill in her mouth as she got up on her knees in her seat to lean over the Transfiguration tome she’d been studying a page of.

“How do you know what the Gryffindor common room looks like?” he asked in a mild, conversational tone.

There was silence for a few seconds, and he looked over at her to see a look of what could be horror on her face.

“I… I mean, I’ve heard about it from you, for one,” she said, tripping over her words in a very curious way. “Gryffindor always struck me as one big messy family.” Iraja shut her eyes and tipped her head down, shaking her head just once as if she knew her explanations fell short. “I’m sorry, maybe I felt so at home after your stories I felt like I knew more about it. Weird quirk,” she finally said, shrugging.

Remus  _ had _ spent some time talking about his friendship with his best mates to her. She always had this hungry look on her face when he spoke of them, as if she’d longed to hear what it was like to be a part of a raucous bunch of friends. He hadn’t thought about whether she’d thought about it when they weren’t together, maybe pictured it for herself. He wanted to tell her that this was just fine, as far as he was concerned. This didn’t feel like the right approach, though. She already seemed more distant than normal, even though she’d had a rueful smile on her face when she had shown up late.

They scratched out their notes and essay drafts in silence for a long time, and the clock ticked through to the point at which they both usually left the library. Even though they hadn’t had a fight, the atmosphere between them didn’t feel right, and he didn’t want to leave it that way, not when he was so anxious about the full moon.

“I wanted to tell you,” he blurted out the second she set her quill down; “I get… sick, sometimes. I can feel it coming on. When it happens, I mean.”

Iraja paused in her obsessive paper-straightening battle to look at him with a surprisingly direct look. “You feel it coming now, you’re saying?”

“Yes,” Remus said, relieved. “I… it takes a few days. It would be just my luck if it happened through Christmas.” 

“I wouldn’t judge you for being sick regularly, Remus,” she told him. “I’m probably the last person to judge that, honestly.”

Remus was so glad that he wouldn’t inadvertently upset her that he didn’t really think much about that statement of hers at the time. It wasn’t until that night, when he was lying in his bed between bouts of restless sleep, that he realized he’d sensed guilt from her in that moment. He wondered what she felt guilty about, in regards to illness. 

oOoOoOo

Remus said goodbye to the other Marauders on December 20th, the last day of term before the new year. He had worried that the separation over the holiday was going to be miserable, and that he wouldn’t be able to keep the unhappiness from showing on his face. The last thing he wanted was to taint his best friends’ celebration of Christmas and their days off by having them feel guilty for having to leave him behind. Remus had no intention of transforming on a full moon at James’s house, though, and Dumbledore had agreed.

Hogwarts was a vastly different place when the majority of the students weren’t there, which was to be expected. For one thing, it was almost devoid of Slytherin students, which Remus supposed made sense, considering that one of the core values of Slytherin House was devotion to family. Wryly, he wondered if that was one of the big reasons why Sirius had been sorted into Gryffindor. How irritated would Walburga Black have been to find out  _ that _ possibility-- that her dislike of her eldest son and heir had led to him being rejected from Slytherin by virtue of its familial pride component.

Remus waited a whole day and a half to head to the library. He’d nearly re-read his entire Defense Against the Dark Arts text just to keep himself busy, but when he turned the corner and saw Iraja in ‘their’ study nook, he knew it had been worth it.

She was deeply engrossed in a book he’d never seen before. Its cover was a slightly waxy, golden color that Remus suddenly realized was animal skin. Possibly even  _ human _ skin. He must have made a noise, because she looked up and the immediate smile she offered him made his heart rate jump. 

“I almost forgot you were staying back,” Iraja said in her rich, low voice.

Remus slid into the seat beside her. “I usually don’t. I can tell I’m going to be sick again, and everyone thought I should stay back where there’s a Hospital Ward, just in case.”

His excuse sounded weak and contrived, even to him, and he saw the skepticism in her eyes. She simply nodded, though, and he was torn between a sense of guilt for lying and gratitude that she sensed it was a fraught topic for him.

“What are you working on?” he asked. The piles of books were even higher than she usually had for assigned classwork, and they didn’t have anything due over the break.

“Independent study,” Iraja said, waving her hand at the pile of books as if they would support her vague explanation. She frowned and bit the tip of her quill as she stared at the page in front of her.

“Who for?” Remus pressed, curious. He wasn’t a competitive student, but he knew his friend Lily was, and as far as he knew, she wasn’t involved in anything individual like this. Perhaps students couldn’t choose to participate while being Head Girl.

“Professor McGonagall,” Iraja said.

Remus pulled out the book he’d grabbed off the shelf to read in hopes that Iraja would be in the library. The two of them sat side by side in companionable fashion until Iraja let out an excited sound of triumph, scribbled something down, and shut the book.

“Yes! Perfect!” she crowed, pointing her wand at four books to stack them over in a corner of the table.

He put down  _ Hound of the Baskervilles _ to congratulate her. “Does that mean you’re ready to write up a report, or are you finished?”

“Oh,” Iraja said, looking embarrassed. “That was just half of it. An important half, though.” She looked like she wanted to elaborate, but hissed in pain, her hand flying up to her temple.

“What?” Remus said, frightened for her.

“It’ll pass,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I can get Madame Pomfrey?”

“I’ve seen her for this already. Nothing to do but wait it out,” Iraja said in a pained voice.

“You could shut your eyes and rest on my shoulder? Less cold than your head down on the table,” Remus offered, nearly holding his breath in anticipation of her reaction.

“...all right,” she agreed, setting one of the large books over her notebook, and laying her quill on top of the book. She started to lean her body toward his shoulder, stopping at the last minute to look at him, her brown eyes warm, even though they were ringed with unshed tears. “Thank you, Remus.”

“Anytime,” he promised, meaning it.

Iraja’s weight was slight, against him, but she was warm, and he hoped the way he couldn’t seem to settle his wildly beating heart wasn’t distracting to her. Remus picked his book up with his left hand and settled back in to read as best he could; when he finally did need to turn the page, Iraja reached over to steady herself on his arm by clutching it with one hand.

A few minutes later she made a tiny noise, and he looked down at the mass of black hair that hid her face from him. “Still hurts?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“Maybe if we--” Remus set his book on his lap and pushed closer to Iraja, slowly moving his arm so that her weight was on his chest and his arm was around her, instead. “Is this all right?”

“Mmhmm,” was her response.

_ Hound of the Baskervilles _ was a good book. Remus had read it before. He couldn’t focus on it now, though. Not with Iraja resting in the circle of his arm, her warmth seeping into him in a way that felt natural and right. Her head was still bothering her, he could tell by the way she would periodically tense up. He stopped reading and thought about her, instead. His sensitivity to pheremones was picking back up with the full moon approaching, and he reveled in the way Iraja’s body responded to his. She was content and he could feel her affection for him. The longer she rested against him, the more he could sense it, and he knew that if she had the same abilities he did, she would be able to sense the same reactions in him.

“You stopped reading,” Iraja observed quietly.

“I’m--” Remus was going to say ‘distracted,’ but he didn’t want her to pull away and apologize. “I’m not feeling it, today,” he said instead.

“I wonder what that’s like,” Iraja murmured, and he caught the amusement in her voice, subtle as it was. 

“Yes, well, maybe if you weren’t such an overachiever,” he teased.

“Not enough hours in the day for that,” she said.

“You are in no danger of running out of those, you know,” Remus told her.

“Hmm,” was her noncommittal response.

They sat like that, quiet and contemplative, for another three quarters of an hour. When Iraja did pull away, it was with an apologetic smile. The library was set to close soon thanks to shorter hours during term break, and Iraja started to pack up before leaving to use the facilities. Remus thought it was only natural to help, but as soon as he picked up one of the smaller tomes, he became concerned.

_ Vigor Corporis Efficere _ . Remus tried to remember his Latin. ‘Corporis’ was the body, he was fairly certain. ‘Vigor’ could be energy, which sometimes in ancient texts stood in for magic. ‘Efficere’ was situation dependent, so it could mean ‘make happen’ or possibly ‘produce.’ He felt like looking inside the book would probably upset Iraja, so he tried to put it back where he had gotten it from. 

Remus stood there for a long time, trying to decide if he really was going to look at more of the titles, but he still didn’t hear the sound of her school shoes clicking against the marble flooring.  _ Unlocking Unmitigated Power Potential _ had red page edging.  _ Hatred: Catalyst for the Dark and the Light _ was the book whose cover looked like it could be animal skin.  _ A Catalogue of the Forbidden; Fate, Flesh, and Fallacy: the Dark Arts;  _ and  _ The Indefensible Undefendables _ were stacked up in a pile. A thin volume caught his eye; its cover seemed to show two faces, a sad, living face, and a skull. Its title frightened Remus so much he drew back in horror:  _ The Ultimate Revenge: Make Your Death Matter. _

He sat down and reopened his book, hoping that the symbolism of him not messing with her books would make up for reading the titles. He couldn’t focus on the pages though. It was one thing to be curious, to take time over the break to look into a taboo subject. It was something else to  _ lie _ about working on a project with a professor who would certainly not approve of the books Iraja was reading! Add that to the fact that she was clearly suffering from something debilitating, something she’d admitted that Hogwarts’ Healer knew about already… 

“Thank you for waiting,” Iraja said quietly.

Remus nodded at her, unable to look into her eyes. He used his wand to levitate her books, unwilling to touch them now that he suspected what they might mean. Ordinarily he was loathe to leave her, he would always wait until she walked away, not the other way around, but today he reached out and squeezed her shoulder, nodded respectfully, and walked away without looking back.

He didn’t want her to see the look of fear and concern for her that he wore on his face.


	3. The Bud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus tells Iraja how he feels about her, and her response blows him away. She confirms his greatest fear, and her illness worsens.

###  Chapter Three: The Bud

When classes were in session, Remus usually stayed in his rooms the day before the full moon until the day afterwards, but without lectures that required constant attention and all the walking to and fro, he was able to show up for Christmas Eve dinner. Many of the professors simply stayed year-round at Hogwarts, and others had friends and family to visit during that time. The Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, and Professor Flitwick were at the table. Filch hovered nearby with a plate in his hand, his cat sitting nearby. Perhaps twelve or so students had stayed over, including Iraja and Remus.

He was unsurprised to see a seat open beside Iraja, even though he had taken longer than he had anticipated to get down to the Great Hall. He was the last to join the table, if Filch didn’t count.

“Thank you for saving a seat, Iraja,” Remus said in a loud voice. Professor McGonagall was seated at her other side, and he saw her crack a rare smile.

“You look a bit peaky,” Iraja said to him, halfway through dinner.

“Yes, good thing I stayed on,” Remus said, trying to look relieved. “How about you?”

Iraja looked at him for a long few seconds before she answered. He wondered if she guessed that he’d looked at her books. “I haven’t been able to shake the headache. It may be permanent.” Her steady gaze seemed to him the equivalent of an unspoken question. Was he going to push for details?

He was. “Permanent? At your age? Surely not,” Remus said quietly, conscious of the other conversations going on around them.

Iraja laughed. “Temporary, then. Either way, it will likely last for a few months.”

Remus’s blood ran cold. After the books he’d seen, there was no mistaking her meaning. He tasted bile in his mouth, and it made him cough. The cough persisted, and with a red face, Remus stood and excused himself from the table.

“I’m glad you could join us, if only for a short while, Mr. Lupin. Happy Christmas!” Dumbledore called out as Remus coughed his way toward the large doors.

Remus turned and waved. Right before he left the Great Hall, he saw Iraja look back toward him, her face pale. She mouthed an apology and, still coughing, Remus bowed his head at her.

It took all the energy he had left to crawl up the Gryffindor male dorm stairs and drag himself into his bed. When he woke, he was ravenously hungry, and the Headmaster was there with food to escort him to the Shack. Remus had slept through all of Christmas Day.

Alone without his usual companions, sick with worry about Iraja and unable to open his presents thanks to oversleeping, Remus had one of the worst transformations in his life.

oOoOoOo

Remus woke up in the infirmary. It had been almost a  _ year _ since he’d done that; he usually woke up on the floor of the Shack, his friends only barely missing Madame Pomfrey’s arrival to help Remus walk to the Hospital Wing. Next to the bed was a table with quite a few wrapped gifts on it, to Remus’s surprise.

A monitoring spell must have been cast on him, because Madame Pomfrey appeared as soon as he struggled to sit up in bed. She helped him sit up and adjusted his blankets, asking him how he felt.

“Half dead,” Remus said automatically, flashing her a grin. The grin faded as he thought about Iraja.

“The Headmaster noticed you were too worn out to open your presents yesterday. He had them brought here so you could have the chance to do so now-- would you like me to bring your friend to visit while you do that? She had a dizzy spell yesterday and spent the night for observation,” Madame Pomfrey offered.

“Iraja is here?” Remus said, an unreasonable happiness rising in his chest. “Yes!”

He knew he shouldn’t be so happy, that all evidence of his ineligibility as a suitor was laid out in the events of the past twenty-four hours, but he couldn’t help himself.

The privacy screen pulled back. “Remus?”

It was Iraja. Remus fumbled for his wand and cast a cushioning charm on the chair beside his bed. He was pretty sure he wasn’t wearing trousers, so he couldn’t get up, but he turned in bed as Madame Pomfrey led Iraja in with a light touch on her arm. She was in a pair of deep blue pajamas with a hospital blanket draped around her shoulders, and her thick black hair was braided down her back, with curly tendrils escaping all around her face. She looked beautiful, and what he thought was more beautiful than that was the strong sense of affection coming off of her in waves. He didn’t know if she knew that he could sense it, but it was heady and exciting to him.

Iraja settled in the chair, and while she did that, he peeked under the blanket to see that he was indeed dressed in pajama trousers. He pulled his own blanket up around his shoulders, hopped down, and pulled the small table of presents over to the bed with magic.

“I got you something, but it’s in my trunk,” Remus said apologetically.

“Is it chocolate?” Iraja asked with amusement threaded through her voice.

“Maybe,” he answered back just as playfully. “I won’t tell, though.” He paused for a few seconds, then added, “I’m sorry you’ve been ill.”

Iraja tensed up in the chair. “Thank you.”

He saw her eyeing the break in his privacy sheet and said, impulsively, “You’re not allowed to run away because I noticed you’re ill if you’re not inclined to run away because  _ I _ am.”

“Remus!” she protested.

“I could see you looking for an escape route.” He picked up a present. “You wouldn’t abandon me to open gifts alone, would you?”

“You would have opened them alone in your dormitory yesterday, wouldn’t you?” she pointed out.

“Miserably,” Remus said, leaning in her direction for emphasis. “This is loads better.” He narrowed his eyes at her.  _ “If _ you stay.”

“I’ll stay,” she said, settling deeper into her blanket.

Remus opened presents from his parents (quills, as always), Lily (a sack of chocolate ‘coal,’ a nod to the tradition of naughty children in Muggle households, he suspected), James (a swotty satirical book about Hogwarts Prefects), and Dumbledore (a hardcover volume of all three Lord of the Rings books). The latter was admired by Iraja, and after he handed it over for inspection, they found it to be an illustrated edition. Remus was touched by the Headmaster’s generosity and thoughtfulness-- Throughout his sixth year, Remus had been reading his ratty three book set in the infirmary while recovering from his transformations, and the third book had practically fallen apart, despite magical intervention. That Dumbledore had remembered and set aside this gift for the Christmas full moon was particularly kind.

“I didn’t let myself buy you anything,” Iraja said.

“Afraid I’d get too attached?” Remus teased. Iraja’s face paled. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked. He thought she might expect him to say ‘I’m already too attached,’ and to surprise her, he said, “I’m a werewolf.”

She didn’t seem as surprised as he had expected.

“You knew already!” he accused. He didn’t put any weight of dismay in his words, and to her credit, she didn’t look apologetic.

“It would have to be something both predictable and important to keep you from spending Christmas with your friends,” Iraja said. “You get sick like clockwork every four weeks. I don’t know many seventeen year olds who have the maturity not to just hope they’re wrong about possibly getting sick over Christmas.”

“That’s fair,” Remus said, smiling. “What about you? You seem to have predicted your own illness. Do you disqualify yourself from your own observance?”

“Oh, I don’t have--” Iraja started to say, then stopped herself. She sighed, scrunched her face up in a completely adorable expression of frustration, and finished the sentence. “--any family near enough to visit.”

“Wrong,” Remus said flatly. “Break is from December 20th to January 8th. There isn’t a place on the  _ planet _ you can’t get to in that time.”

Iraja was looking down at her lap.

“Shit, Iraja, they’re not dead, are they?” Remus said with a sinking feeling.

“No.”

She didn’t elaborate. It was so frustrating and yet so like her that he felt a surge of tenderness toward her so strong he nearly gasped.

“I didn’t mean to trick you into saying anything private,” he said. “Forgive me?”

She looked up and smiled, a black curl twisted fetchingly against her face. “Forgiven.”

“Did you know, werewolves have heightened senses, around the full moon?” he said next. She nodded, and the importance of what he was about to say brought the tang of adrenaline to the back of his throat. “When you walked in, I could sense a lot of affection, more than I would have expected for how short a time that I’ve known you,” he said, pausing to see if she would react in any way.

Iraja looked down at her lap. He sensed an overpowering amount of guilt from her, and he was confused. To reassure her, he continued the thought he’d stopped in the middle of.

“In fact, it’s almost as strong as the amount I feel for you,” Remus told Iraja. “I’m fall--” Iraja looked up, her eyes wide and shocked, and he adjusted what he was going to say to ease her concern. Time enough for a full confession another day. “I  _ really  _ fancy you, Iraja. A lot.”

She blinked at him, two spots of color high on her cheekbones. Her scars stood out more against the paleness of the rest of her face, and he was surprised to realize that he hardly ever really  _ saw _ them any more. They were just part of the character of her face, like her black, unruly hair or her expressive eyes.

“Are you saying you have a crush on the wind’s daughter?” Iraja said. The warmth in her voice didn’t soothe the pain that he felt hearing their safeword. He’d almost told her he loved her, and her response was to run away.

He reminded himself that he  _ knew _ her. This was the exact response he should have expected.

“More than a crush, Iraja,” he told her stubbornly. “I don’t want to hide it.”

Iraja stood up, letting the blanket around her fall away. It clung to her hips until she walked the few steps to stand beside him.

“You don’t have to hide it,” she told him softly. She reached out and pushed back his hair where it had started to fall into his eyes. “You might wish you had, though.”

“Why? Because you’re going to push me away? Or because you are dying?” he asked, feeling mulish. If this was the only conversation she was going to allow him to have about  _ feelings, _ about taboo subjects, he was going to push to include everything.

“Oh, Remus,” Iraja said. She threw her arms around him, and he wrapped his arms around her in return, desperate for her comfort and terrified at being right about what he’d said. Her hair smelled lovely, but the thing he noticed most was how small she seemed in comparison to the force of her will. She was far more ill than he’d thought, he realized with a pang that had him gasping out an audible sob.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he babbled into her hair. “I can’t turn it off. I don’t want you to--”

She pulled her head up from where she’d buried it on his shoulder to look at him. “Shhh, shhh. I know. Neither do I.”

“So don’t,” he told her, the ghost of a hopeful smile on his face. She fiddled with the blanket beside him a little. It looked like she was fighting a smile of her own. Suddenly, she looked directly in his eyes.

“I can’t stop,” she said gravely.

“But--”

“Can’t stop loving you back. I tried, but--”

Her confession was like Iraja herself: slowly revealed but bold and honest when necessary. Remus leaned down and kissed her, mindful of the strength ebbing away from both of them. It was gentle, but very intense. He didn’t pull her close, not wanting to activate her automatic defenses, but he should have remembered she had already signaled her intent to withdraw.

Iraja lifted both of her hands and framed his face, turning her head to deepen the kiss for a few precious seconds, her tongue touching his before pulling away. She smiled and then turned, walking with purpose toward the break in his privacy screen.

Remus fumbled for his wand to stop her, thinking he would simply charm the sheet to show no exit, but his wand wasn’t where he had left it. He had to look down at the bed to find that it was now farther down the blanket. Iraja had moved it away, Remus realized. When he looked back up, she was gone.

oOoOoOo

Remus read in their nook for three hours before lunch on Boxing Day. He came back and finished the book, even though his mind was elsewhere. Iraja hadn’t been at lunch, and he wondered if he ought to avoid meals. He knew how to coax the House Elves into bringing him a sandwich, but he didn’t know if she did. He stayed in his dorm for dinner, and a few hours later, he snuck down into the kitchens for a sandwich. Impulsively, he asked one of them if she knew if the Ravenclaw transfer student had been at dinner.

He was profoundly grateful that her scars weren’t the only identifying factor he could use. It would have felt like an awful betrayal of the richness of her personality to boil it down to just scars, he felt.

“Miss Perdita is been eating in the Hospital Wing,” he was told by a squeaky house elf.

Remus was stunned. She was still there! He thought she had been avoiding him all day, and instead, she was still too ill to even  _ go _ to the Great Hall!

He left the kitchens without his sandwich and rushed over to the Hospital Wing, but Madame Pomfrey was off duty, and her horse-faced substitute was worse than a brick wall. He would have to wait until  _ after _ breakfast the next morning for ‘limited visiting hours.’

The witch wouldn’t even allow Remus to leave a short letter, and she told him she would be refusing all owls, as was policy after visiting hours.

In desperation, Remus searched James’s bed and school trunk for his Invisibility Cloak. Prongs hardly ever took anything from school home on holidays, which was as much a sign of his wealth and home security as anything else James Potter ever did. Sure enough, the Invisibility Cloak was jammed into the false bottom of James’s trunk.

Remus waited until moonrise, knowing from experience that  _ Lumos _ didn’t work very well when hidden inside the Cloak, but was a sure-fire sign of a student out after curfew when it wasn’t hidden. The light of the waning gibbous moon was almost as bright as he imagined the full moon would be. He picked his way through the Hospital Wing, using his senses to find Iraja. The bed-curtains were around each bed, regardless of occupancy, but it was not difficult to find her.

Remus crept in through the gap in the curtain to see that Iraja was sleeping. There was a chair beside her, and somehow Remus simply  _ knew _ that Albus Dumbledore had been to visit her that day. On the small table on the other side of the bed were a stack of papers, a mostly empty ink pot, and multiple quills. These signs of recent activity told him she hadn’t been sleeping all day, at least.

He decided he would sit beside her in the chair with his legs folded underneath himself to stay under the Cloak. Here was a chance to look at her without making her uncomfortable, without adding himself to the list of people who  _ stared _ at her. She slept in a huddled curl, and Remus felt a pang of physical pain at the idea that she might be trying to hide or take up less space even in her sleep. Remus cast a silencing spell on his chair and pulled it as close to her bed as he could before curling up on it and draping the Cloak over himself. 

Through the gap he needed to breathe, Remus watched Iraja sleep until he fell asleep himself.

oOoOoOo

“Remus!”

Remus lifted his head to see Iraja on the bed beside his chair staring at him with her hand at her chest.

He rubbed his eyes and then realized what the problem was: the Invisibility Cloak was draped around his shoulders. 

“I fell asleep, I’m sorry, I--”

Iraja burst out laughing. He frowned at her, and she just laughed harder. Finally, after wiping her eyes, she waved her hand helplessly in his direction.

“You are a floating head of disapproval and I just --!”

“Oh, right,” Remus said, his face burning red in embarrassment. He reached up and pulled the Cloak away from the rest of his body. “I won’t get you in trouble, will I?”

“I don’t think anyone has been by, yet. They think I like to sleep in,” Iraja said, her brown eyes twinkling at him. She held up her ink pot. “Unfortunately, my ruse only lasts as long as the ink holds out.”

Remus wasn’t fully awake yet, so he didn’t have enough tact not to say, “Is that the plan you’re writing to make your death count?”

They stared at each other for a long minute. Then, Iraja lifted her chin and squared her shoulders.

“Yes, actually.”

“That’s monstrous,” Remus said. “And that’s coming from a  _ werewolf.” _

“You’re not a monster!”

“Neither are you! What about fighting for your life?” he hissed at her, scrambling to pull his wand from his pocket. He cast a particularly strong silencing spell around them.

“It’s incurable,” Iraja said, keeping her eyes on his as if challenging him to disbelieve her.

“So is lycanthropy,” Remus pointed out.

“Well, I’m not a werewolf. Think of me as a cat-- I’m on my ninth life,” she said.

“You’re not a cat, you’re a human.”

“The result is the same, Remus.” She pushed her thick black hair away from her face, and he saw that some of it stuck to her cheek. It was wet. She was crying. “One more death left, that’s what I’ve got. Isn’t it human nature to make your death count, when you can see it coming?”

He’d just argued that she was human, and she had turned that truth back on him neatly, just like her powerful  _ Protego _ from DADA class months before.

“What’s killing you?” he asked, hating that the question sounded like an abandonment of his argument entirely.

Iraja looked up at the ceiling, thinking, remembering. “I was visiting an acquaintance. The ‘Dark Lord’--” and here, she made a face and an odd gesture with her fingers “--sees him as a threat. Death Eaters attacked, and I watched my friends Apparate away. When they left, they disturbed an Erumpent Horn--”

“Oh,  _ shit,” _ Remus observed.

“Yes. It exploded and must have disturbed some odd magical relic. I went flying.” Iraja looked down, and then she lifted one hand to gently trace her scars. “Now I’m suffering the after effects. The consensus is that it’s universally fatal. Degenerative. I chose to come here so I could finish my schooling and use the library.”

“You knew when you came here?” Remus asked in a hushed, horrified voice.

“Why do you think I kept away from everyone?” Iraja whispered, as if that explained everything.

_ “Iraja.” _

Now she looked defensive, curling into herself as she’d done while she was sleeping, and he felt terrible. Fully expecting to be rejected or ignored, he reached out his hand, hoping against hope that she would take it. Whether it was to comfort himself or her, he didn’t know.

She took his hand.

oOoOoOo

Remus learned that Iraja had  _ two _ plans, possibly three, but she would only talk to him about one of them. They spent the remaining days of the holiday break together, talking over what she intended to do and how she planned to do it. Both of them avoided talking about when.

“What made you choose Bellatrix?” Remus asked Iraja on the day before the train was due back at Hogwarts. They’d talked about how she planned to sneak into Malfoy Manor for Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy’s wedding. She had told Remus that there was a glamour spell she had come up with that would change her appearance, even removing her scars, but that it took a lot of energy and she intended to use it only once. Remus didn’t ask to see it. It was clear that Iraja saw it as her death mask, and he didn’t want to remember her that way.

“From what I hear, she’s obsessed with her master,” Iraja said, reaching up to trace her fingertips along the edge of the protection charm Remus had cast so they could sit outside on the covered bridge on the path to Hogsmeade. The heating charm she’d cast kept them warm, and Remus’s shield charm kept the cold air out and the warm air in.

“Don’t touch it! The more contact, the weaker the spell gets,” Remus reminded her.

Iraja wandlessly summoned a notebook from her bag beside Remus and wrote something down. When she was finished, she made a pained face and leaned wearily against Remus. He’d long since stopped asking her if she was all right, because he always hated the answer. Now, he simply held her through each episode and tried to suppress the way his heart would beat wildly and desperately, worried that the pains were coming faster and with stronger intensity.

“I think she’s his right hand witch,” Iraja said. “Her fanaticism ramps up everyone else. If she is diminished or killed, I think it would make a difference. For everyone.” Between each phrase, she’d taken a deep breath, clearly struggling. 

“You could write out your answers if they--” he started to say.

“No!” she protested, scrambling against him to sit up. When she did, she immediately touched her hand to her forehead and he pulled her to fully lean against his chest, both of his arms around her. “Maybe,” Iraja said in a grumpy voice. She rested a hand on top of the arm he’d carefully angled across her chest. “I’m sorry.”

He said nothing. He could feel her wry laugh in his chest where she lay, in the arm he cradled her with, and it was both shockingly intimate and perfectly right.

“You didn’t say anything because you don’t want to acknowledge that I’m hurting you,” Iraja said in a soft voice. Remus remained resolutely silent. “I wasn’t strong enough to stay alone,” she whispered.

“That’s where I have to object. Losing someone always hurts more than loneliness,” Remus said, thinking of the diary he’d found the year before Hogwarts. It was his mother’s, and in it she detailed how desperately she wanted a child, how happy she was during her pregnancy, how much she doted on her son.

The last entry in it was the day before the night he was bitten.

He’d always thought that given the chance, his mother would have gone back to wishing for the potential of the child she wanted, rather than the ruination of the child she  _ had _ . He usually didn’t think about his mother, and doing it now in the presence of the only other woman he loved anywhere near as much was overwhelming. He tried to hold in the crushing weight of disappointing his mother but holding that back against the tide of wishing Iraja wasn’t ill was impossible, and he let out a gasping sob.

Immediately, Iraja reached up and laid a cool hand against his cheek; the concern she obviously felt for him was beautiful on her scarred face as he looked down at her.

“It’s not you. Well, not  _ just _ you,” Remus promised between gulps of air, his vision blurry with tears.

“Tell me?” she asked, and he did.

oOoOoOo

**January 1978**

They’d agreed to go back to their previous behavior patterns after the break, and Remus did his best to adjust to seeing Iraja less often. He re-evaluated his statement about loneliness, though.

Losing someone wasn’t worse than loneliness. The loneliness of loving someone and being loved back with the knowledge that their time together was finite was much, much worse. Remus started to have nightmares of a mansion filled with hard-faced people in fancy clothing that stared at him like he was out of place. They moved out of his way in fear, and soon he was standing in front of the bride and groom and their families. With his wand out, Remus cast something very powerful on the black-haired witch smirking at him, and it failed. Then, everyone in the room attacked him and he died in agony, his long black hair falling over his face as he died and his perspective pulled back to see the room and his crumpled body.

He told Iraja, and she looked sad, but unconcerned.

“I won’t attack her in front of everyone,” she reassured him.

He still got the nightmares, but he didn’t tell her about them. The haunting way that she hadn’t reassured him about the most horrible parts of his nightmare made him wake up in terror far more often than the dream itself. 

It could mean she expected those parts to come true.

oOoOoOo

Iraja moved into a side room in the Hospital Wing, and she was only able to attend her classes sporadically. Remus brought her all of her classwork as well as any book she wanted from the library, even the awful ones he wished she didn’t read. She had previously found the silencing spell she intended to use on Bellatrix, so her research now seemed to be about anti-magic, something he didn’t know much about. It seemed like a Muggle concept brought into their world by a talented Muggleborn wizard back in Grindelwald’s time. She tried to explain why she wanted the books, but Remus found the theories to be confusing and hard to understand when he had to watch his girlfriend struggle just as much with the explanation as sitting upright.

It was so difficult to watch that Remus went to his Head of House.

“I want your permission to drop a class so I can spend some time in the Potions lab brewing Anti-Dizziness Draught for Iraja,” Remus said to Professor McGonagall by way of greeting.

Instead of taking offense, McGonagall walked over from her desk to the doorway where Remus stood. He felt his face flush with the realization of how rudely he had acted.

“Your time with  _ me, _ Mr. Lupin, is not limited. I can forgive you for cutting to the chase, but you will need to learn how to navigate that kind of social difference in behavior. Now is as good a time as any. Now, would you like to start over?”

“Yes, thank you,” Remus said. She gestured with her hand for him to proceed. “Professor, I would like to request your permission to drop a class. I would like to spend some time brewing a potion for my classmate. She--” he faltered, feeling the panic rise as it always did when he thought about losing her. 

“She is quite ill, yes. Do you have reason to believe that this potion will make a difference?” McGonagall asked, resting her hand on a nearby desk and fixing him with a steady look.

“I don’t,” Remus admitted. “I would like to try anyway.”

“I don’t recall your having any sort of affinity for potions-- why would you request the chance to make it yourself instead of asking for the school to provide the potion for her?” she asked.

Remus stood up straight and lifted his chin. “With respect, I think that might take too long. I don’t want to wait for the request to travel through school bureaucracy.”

“That’s sensible.” McGonagall picked a piece of lint off of the shoulder of her teaching robe and walked over to her desk. She sat down and wrote a quick note on a piece of parchment. After folding it in two, she came over to hand it to him. “Take this note to Professor Slughorn. If he’s willing, you may have the best of both worlds: an extra few hours a week to spend with Miss Perdita and a professionally-brewed remedy for her extreme dizziness.”

Remus looked at the note in his hand and back to Professor McGonagall. “That’s--  _ thank you, _ thank you very much!”

“Please express to Miss Perdita that it is not an inconvenience for the school to offer her certain amenities? I have met with her a few times to provide private instruction and she waved off my concern. Her suffering does not improve anyone’s opinion in a measurable way. It simply makes the rest of us feel inadequate,” McGonagall said. 

She seemed like she had forgotten to whom she was speaking, just as Remus had when he had first walked in. He didn’t know what to say, so he stood and waited. Professor McGonagall looked over at him and he saw that her eyes were shining with what might be unshed tears, hinting at a rare emotional reaction for the normally severe professor.

“I suppose I don’t need to tell  _ you _ about feeling inadequate,” she said. “Run along, now,” she added, pulling a handkerchief from a pocket.

“Thank you again,” Remus said. He left her classroom with the note for Professor Slughorn and walked quickly when he was around other students. When he was alone, he  _ ran. _

oOoOoOo

The Anti-dizziness Draught was a  _ miracle. _ Iraja started to tease Remus that he only wanted it so she could sit up and kiss him, because he refused to kiss her while she was lying flat on her back in bed. He got very good at transfiguring two chairs side by side into a passable couch for the two of them to sit on comfortably in her small room in the Hospital Wing. 

Halfway through January, Iraja gave up on actual schoolwork. She came to the realization that she wouldn’t be able to complete the practical parts of her N.E.W.T. exams if she couldn’t stand for any appreciable length of time. Both of them skipped all their classes on that day, and Remus simply held onto her small body as she cried. His shirt was wet with her tears by the time she was finished, and she’d had the audacity to scold him for not thinking of using some way to collect them.

“Iraja,  _ what?” _ Remus had asked.

“Virgin’s tears, Remus! They have quite a few uses in potions, you know!” Iraja had said in a haughty voice.

“If you are that worried about wasting them, I have a solution for that,” he’d teased, his voice low and confident despite the way his hand shook when he’d laid it on her thigh as part of his joke.

They had both laughed, and then cried. If DADA practical exams were out, sex was, too. He didn’t mind that much; it was the joy of her mind that he craved the most.

On the 20th of January, Remus brought Iraja her tray from lunch, along with a bit of news from Sirius. He’d gotten his invitation to his cousin Narcissa’s wedding.

It was scheduled for just under a month away, February 18th.


	4. Wildfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iraja's time with Remus is over, and the two exchange their goodbyes. Remus passes on her journals to Professor McGonagall, and Dumbledore hands him a letter from Iraja.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get the tissues ready.

###  Chapter Four: Wildfire

**February 1978**

Iraja took copious notes. Remus teased her that he was jealous of her quills because she would stick them everywhere, leaving them embedded in her hair, tucked behind her ear, twisted into a buttonhole, even once tucked into the neckline of her shirt, the tip dripping a dark stain of ink down into her cleavage. He thought he would never forget how beautiful  _ that _ had looked. 

Iraja would get hot flashes now that her dizziness was medicated with Professor Slughorn’s potions, and she’d wear tank tops that hugged her curves, her hair loose and wild about her shoulders. That day, she sat cross-legged on the floor (less distance to fall if she started to feel dizzy) in loose, wide-legged trousers that she had rolled up so her legs could feel cooler. She was proofreading something she refused to explain to him, and Remus was reclining on the floor beside her working on an essay. She kept swapping between a quill with red ink and one with black, and she liked her amounts of ink  _ just so, _ which meant she wouldn’t keep them safely in the ink pots. So when she’d swapped quills, she’d simply tucked the black inked one’s feather into her neckline.

Remus looked over and watched the ink gathering on the nib until gravity pulled a droplet free. It must have been warmed by Iraja’s hand, as she didn’t notice the drip, and he got to watch it travel across her skin, flowing to the place her breasts touched each other. The drop paused there and then sank out of sight.

“You’re staring,” Iraja remarked in her low, quiet voice.

“Some ink spilled on your chest,” Remus told her.

“What?” she gasped, the intonation of her voice rising with her surprise. That was something Remus had needed to get used to-- she deliberately altered her voice, consciously, every time she said something. She’d relaxed around him and her natural speaking voice was a bit higher than the one she used in class. Iraja had explained that it was part of her attempt to keep herself distant; if she had to consciously change the way she sounded to be consistent, every time she spoke, she’d be reminded about her goal of staying separate from her classmates. It was bleak, calculated, and completely characteristic of her meticulousness, Remus thought. He was curious if the voice she used with him was her natural one or if she still held up that small amount of a barrier between them, but he didn’t want to hear the answer if it was ‘yes,’ so he didn’t ask.

Remus sometimes wondered just how much of her he really saw, but then there were moments like these, where she whipped out her wand and competently erased all traces of the ink and then looked at him with affection and exasperation, that he felt like he completely knew her.

“What if I came with you?” Remus offered, suddenly, shocking even himself.

“Where?” Iraja asked, confused.

“The wedding.”

_ “No, _ you dear thing. Promise me you won’t,” she said, her tone turning steely.

“You won’t even discuss it with me?” Remus took the pages she was finished with and set them at the window where the sunlight streamed in, so they could dry faster. He turned to look at her, sitting cross-legged and casually lovely against a cushion on the floor. She was gathering her mass of hair up like the time he’d cornered her in the library, lifting it off of her neck and sighing in relief.

“I’m planning to die there, Remus. No, you can’t come!”

He hated her fatalism. It felt like the attitude of someone five times her age. “You are eighteen years old!” he growled at her.

“--and dying,” she said, twisting her hair into a plait that lay over one shoulder. “I’ve had longer to adjust. You haven’t.”

“You don’t want me there?” he asked miserably, knowing what her answer would be, but still throwing himself onto his knees in front of her, leaning over to equalize the height difference so he could look into her eyes.

“You’ll be there, somewhere safe. Inside,” Iraja said, reaching out and taking his hand, tugging him over to her to place it over her heart. “You have to live. You have things to do.  _ Great _ things.”

Remus ended up curled up beside her, and the softness of her chest underneath his hand made desire curl up inside him in a heady and exciting way. He brushed his thumb along her skin and was gratified to see her eyes close, her lips curving up into a pleased smile. He leaned over and brushed her nose with his, and Iraja made a plaintive little noise and kissed him, letting go of his hand in favor of burying her hands in his hair.

They kissed for a few minutes before she pulled back and hissed in pain, immediately saying, “Don’t you  _ dare _ apologize, Remus Lupin!” as if she thought she could warn him off before he could say he was sorry for pushing her too far.

He picked her up against her protestations and laid her on the bed, sitting beside her to help her adjust her clothes so they weren’t uncomfortable.

“I don’t have to say it, you know what I’m thinking,” he pointed out, brushing an errant lock of her black hair away from her eyes.

“Git,” she said sleepily.

“Harridan,” he replied affectionately.

“Remus?” she asked thirty seconds later.

“Yes?”

“Will I make it ten more days?”

_ \--don’t panic, don’t cry, don’t make her feel worse, she loves you, she trusts you to hold up to this, just like she is holding up-- _

“Absolutely,” Remus said, hoping to Merlin he was right.

oOoOoOo

It wasn’t until a few days before the wedding that Remus and Iraja realized the best way to get her into the event was as Sirius Black’s date.

All of the Marauders knew about Remus’s second life with Iraja in the Hospital Ward, and each one of them had helped bring things to them at one point. Asking Sirius to escort his girlfriend  _ to her death _ felt like several categories different in scope. It wasn’t until Sirius cornered him in the dormitory on the morning of the 16th that Remus understood just how determined Iraja was. Since Remus had dithered about asking him for her, she’d sent Sirius an owl, which meant she must have enlisted one of the orderlies to take the message to the Owlery.

“Remus, if I were in your position I’d be under my bed crying with my thumb in,” Sirius said as he stood blocking the exit to their dormitory. “But I feel like I need to give you a reality check. That young woman is braver than ten Aurors, and whether or not you hate the choice she’s making, she’s stubborn enough to do it without us. Wouldn’t it be better to let me help?”

Remus stood looking at his dearest friend and tried to decide if he wanted to let his heart or his head respond.

“If you need to punch me before you look at things rationally, go for it. I’m tough enough to take it,” Sirius said, bracing himself. “I can even smile like a smug shit if it’ll help!”

“It’s the same face you were already making,” Remus said, smiling despite himself. “I wasn’t trying to stop her, I just…” He looked down at his feet, feeling like all the emotions he tried to hold back when actually with Iraja were going to flood him at once. “She told you, then?”

“I want to agree to take her as my date. I’m supposed to bring someone anyway, and bringing a scarred, whip-smart swot from Ravenclaw is far superior than anyone who might think my taking them  _ means _ something,” Sirius said. His tone was cautious, and Remus reached out and clasped him on his shoulder.

“I thought you weren’t going to go?”

“No, but this is a perfect mix of obedience and ‘fuck you.’ I already stopped by her room to talk to her about it, told her about being grateful she’s keeping the Slytherin bints from seeing it as a wedding proposal, and do you know what she said?” Sirius asked him.

“It was clever, whatever it was,” Remus said, feeling a surge of affectionate pride.

“It was. ‘There’s not enough time for a marriage license, even if I did want to make assumptions!’” Sirius quoted, shaking his head in stunned appreciation.

“I should be taking her to the Headmaster so he can lock her up and stop her, that’s what I should do,” Remus sighed. “Her attitude is incredibly toxic, but I  _ trust _ her, Padfoot. I wouldn’t be passively watching her walk up and shake hands with death otherwise.” 

“Hex it and then curse it into oblivion, more like. And it’s not passive. It’s supportive. You’re not making her feel bad for doing what she thinks is right,” Sirius said, putting his hands on Remus’s shoulders.

“If she does this, three days from now she’ll be dead. If she’d be alive in three days otherwise--”

“Do  _ you _ want to die in a hospital bed if you could cut down someone evil and die a few days, a few  _ weeks _ earlier? Would you trade that time to make a real difference?” Sirius asked Remus, his fervent voice ringing in the small room.

“You act like you wish you could take her place,” Remus said. He felt like his whole body was scraped clean of vitality, hollowed out and empty. He wondered if that was a glimpse of how he’d feel when Iraja was gone for real.

“I’d always choose the noble fighting death, wand in hand, and you know it. Come on, let’s get your Amazon warrior queen her breakfast,” Sirius said, letting go of Remus and swinging at him with a casual punch. Remus had his wand in his hand and had cast  _ Protego _ soon enough to block him, as was their routine.

“Bloody hell, I thought sure I’d get you that time!” Sirius griped.

“That’s how I knew you’d try it,” Remus said. “And Iraja’s not an Amazon. If anything, she’d be Minerva-- goddess of wisdom and war strategy.”

“Why am I not surprised you know that?” Sirius asked, rolling his eyes.

oOoOoOo

Iraja had insisted Remus go to class on the 17th. It was Friday, double DADA, and she told him that she planned to sleep most of the day away. She was asleep when he brought her dinner, and he wished he’d brought the Invisibility Cloak as a call back to her waking up and seeing him improperly covered by it the night he’d snuck in to see her over the holiday break. Instead, he sat beside her bed and listened to her labored breathing, resolving to remember her by her personality and cleverness, not the way her illness ravaged her body.

“You look sad,” Iraja said. Remus looked up from where he’d been staring at her hand.

“I  _ am _ sad.”

“Me too,” she said. “Will you do me a favor? I have these notebooks full of research, can you give them to Professor McGonagall? It’s very important that she have them. I have something for you, too, but--” Iraja broke off to cough, frowning in frustration as she did so.

“Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it,” he said.

“You promise?” she asked, an impish twist to her lips.

“Go on, what will you trick me into?” he asked, feigning a grumpy voice just to see her grin at him for it.

“Don’t pull away from your other friends? They love you. It won’t be an inconvenience to them to have you be sad for a while, so don’t make assumptions that push them farther away, all right?” Iraja said, reaching out for his hand and covering it with both of hers.

“I’ll try,” he said, meaning it.

“If you don’t, Sirius is on orders to do whatever is necessary to keep you around. I will, of course, leave that up to his discretion,” Iraja said, her eyes flashing with amusement.

“I love how you’ve already enlisted my best friend to forcibly reinsert me into Hogwarts society,” Remus grumbled.

“It’s for your own good,” Iraja said. “I’m sure if I were in your position, I would be every bit as grumpy about it. Now, I’m going to change the subject because I am leaving the miserable goodbyes to tomorrow.”

“Is being upset at you for being flippant about this considered a new subject?” Remus asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No. So, I wanted to tell you about a possible potions breakthrough by a wizard named Damocles Belby…”

oOoOoOo

That night, Remus stayed with Iraja. He was seated in a chair beside her bed when Madame Pomfrey came by for her last check before lights out, and though she looked disapprovingly at him, after casting some diagnostic charms the mediwitch left without telling him to come with her.

The implications of her actions left Remus feeling hollow again; just looking at Iraja told him that she was far too tired to do anything other than sleep, but in the past, they’d been firmly separated at bedtime no matter what. The fact that the adults in charge had avoided doing that tonight was ominous, but as he carefully laid down beside Iraja in the bed and extended her blankets to cover them both comfortably, Remus felt oddly content. He’d read about the stages of grief, and he reckoned that whether they were true or not, he’d come to the place of acceptance, even if it had been a turbulent journey. His worst fear had been that Iraja could have lived months past the wedding and planned attack, and that she was trading that time for the golden opportunity that the Malfoy wedding provided.

The look on Madame Pomfrey’s face tonight told him that was decidedly not the case.

“Your mind is a million miles away,” Iraja whispered to him, lifting her head to kiss his chest before resting her head on his shoulder, one arm draped across his stomach.

“My heart is right here,” Remus promised, kissing her temple. “I was just thinking about my worries, when you first told me your plan. I was so afraid you would have lived long past whatever day you ended up choosing to attack her.”

“And now?” she asked, her low voice sympathetic.

“And now I’m not worried about that anymore,” Remus admitted, the words fighting to pass the lump in his throat.

“Neither am I,” she whispered. “I am sorry to have hurt you, love.”

“I promise I’ll never fall asleep regretting this,” Remus told her. He knew she was smart enough to know that meant he wasn’t promising he’d never regret at all. Shortly afterwards, he felt her body relax against his, and he told himself not to be disappointed that she didn’t make the same promise in return. After all, she didn’t have much time left for regrets.

oOoOoOo

The next day, Remus presented Iraja with a wrapped box.

“Remus, what--”

“No protestations, witch!” he commanded. “Open it.”

She did, her lovely brown eyes lighting up when she saw the object nestled in the rose petals he’d conjured. It was a crystal pendant in the shape of a teardrop, sky blue in color. Iraja lifted it out of the velvety-soft petals and he saw her smiling face through the transparent crystal between them, another image he felt like he would always treasure in his memories.

“Remus, I have no idea what they’ll do with my body. I can’t possibly--”

“You can, and you will. I want you to wear it. I can’t be there with you, but this is your connection to me, that’s the reason I’m giving it to you,” Remus told her firmly.

“I suppose you won’t tell me anything about where you got it,” Iraja dangled, reaching up to fasten it around her neck. It hung low, almost between her breasts.

“It’s either carved from the living tears of my ultimate ancestor, or I picked it up at Hogsmeade last month for a sickle,” Remus said. “Its importance isn’t related to its origins.”

“Thank you for the gift, Remus,” Iraja said, kissing the crystal that fit nearly perfectly in the palm of her hand. She arched up to kiss him. “What time is it?” she whispered, her hand on his chest shaking a little bit.

“You have twenty minutes before Sirius comes to get you,” Remus told her after a quick  _ Tempus _ charm. “We should have stayed up all night. I wasted--”

Iraja kissed him. “I couldn’t stay up, you know that. If I could…”

“We wouldn’t be sending you to the wedding in the first place,” he finished for her. “I know.” 

She pulled away and picked up her wand from the table beside the bed. “Watch,” she said, and cast a transfiguration spell on her pajamas.

The white outlined design melted into the fabric as it shifted from warm flannel to crisp satin, the buttons sliding up into the neckline as white gemstones in a scoop neck. The sleeves lengthened into a medieval-style drape that tightened against her upper arms. She leaned over and pulled the pajama bottoms off even as the hem of the shirt grew into an ankle-length skirt. With a flick of her wand, a triangle-shaped sheer section grew from her waist to extend down to the hem, scattered with the same shape gemstones as those at her neckline, just smaller. The navy blue dress was elegant and understated, and she looked stunning in it.

“I was going to ask how I look but your facial expression tells me everything,” Iraja teased. She touched the chain his gift hung from, and Remus reached out and traced the opposite side with his fingertip.

“The fact that you can’t see what’s hanging from it is an attractive effect,” he told her, tracing his eyes over the way the chain looped around her neck and slid out of sight under her neckline.

There was a knock at the door, and Remus met Iraja’s eyes. It had to be Sirius. They both called out for him to come in.

When Sirius walked in, he whistled at Iraja.

“Settle down,” Remus warned his friend. Sirius just grinned at him. He was wearing a well-cut suit that probably cost more than Remus’s father’s entire yearly salary.

“Do you think it’s too fancy for a wedding guest? Much less a mostly uninvited one?” Iraja asked, turning around for Sirius to see.

“It will be the most plain dress there, guaranteed,” Sirius said.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” she said. She walked over to the mirror and started casting spells at her hair. 

Remus turned to Sirius. “Try to stay nearby? Maybe shift into Padfoot and hide.”

“That’s the plan,” Sirius said grimly. “If I possibly can, I’ll watch.” Remus put the lid on the box he’d given to Iraja, and when Sirius saw it, he clearly recognized it immediately. In a shocked whisper, he said, “Your mother’s--”

Remus lifted his wand threateningly. “If you must stick around for her attack on your cousin, do it  _ without _ helping, please. I don’t want to lose you, and I don’t want her ghost coming back here to haunt me for ruining her plans,” Remus said, his voice loud. He hoped that Iraja hadn’t heard Sirius’s comment about the pendant. He knew she’d be reluctant to take it with her if she knew its actual value to him.

“I can hear you, you know!” Iraja called out from the mirror across the room.

Remus looked over and saw that she’d tamed her hair into an elegant, complicated-looking twist at the base of her neck, with a few loose curls hanging near her face.

“It’s not the flat-ironed style, but my hair will never be straight,” she said matter-of-factly.

Remus blinked at her. Her scars were gone, or obscured somehow.

“I can’t keep up the glamour for more than a few hours, but that’s all I need,” Iraja said nervously, gesturing at her face.

With her hair back and her face free of scars, she almost looked like a different person. Her eyes were the same, and they glinted with tears as she looked at him.

“You are beautiful. I almost didn’t notice. I don’t think I really saw them anymore, anyway,” Remus said. She rushed over and into his arms, and he kissed her, even with Sirius standing right beside them.

When they pulled apart, Iraja addressed Sirius.

“I can bring them back, if you were looking forward to flaunting your disobedience for your family,” she said, waving her wand at her face. Immediately, her scars re-drew themselves on her face. “I plan on strategically casting the glamour as necessary, today. I don’t want either of you to get in trouble for possibly knowing in advance, so I mean to look different enough from ‘Iraja Perdita’ that only certain people will know the truth. With luck only the headmaster and perhaps Professor McGonagall will guess the truth.”

Sirius simply bowed to her, but his impudent grin spoke of his approval. He walked over to the mirror and fussed with his suit, but Remus knew it was time for them to leave.

“I’m going to say goodbye. I don’t want to tell you what to do,” Iraja said, “--so I won’t. I trust you to take care of yourself. Of all the people I have ever met, you are the least monstrous and the most intelligent. Every molecule of you is kind and gentle. Anyone who tells you different is not worth breathing the same air as you do,” she said, her small frame shaking with the intensity of her emotions as she spoke.

Remus pulled her close to him. With his arms around her and hers around him, he simply said, “Goodbye, dearest. You are worth knowing, even for such a short time. Thank you for choosing to spend that time with me, despite everything.”

“You were worth breaking my rules for,” she murmured, kissing his chest.

“Take care of her?” Remus said to Sirius, who walked back over to shake his hand. Then, Remus forced himself to walk away and stand at the window. He turned and saw Iraja wiping her eyes before she tucked her arm into Sirius’s. Remus could barely see them as Sirius opened the door and ushered her out. They would walk out to the boundary of the anti-Apparition wards, Remus knew, but he couldn’t go with them. Two dressed up seventh year students heading out for a date weren’t an unheard-of occurrence at Hogwarts, but they would definitely garner undue attention if a shabbily dressed, sobbing young man was following them.

Remus stared out of the window and pictured the path the two would walk in his mind, wishing that the Marauder’s Map wasn’t locked away somewhere in Argus Filch’s office.

oOoOoOo

It was hours later when Sirius returned. Remus was curled up in Iraja’s bed, having lain there in a horrified stupor all day. He’d cast a ward on the bedroom door that the Marauders often used; it was a variant of Notice Me Not, essentially sending anyone who wasn’t a Marauder away with a vague sense that the occupant was not to be disturbed, and there was something pressing to do elsewhere. So when the door opened and someone walked in, Remus knew it was Sirius.

He also knew Sirius would never have come back if Iraja were still alive.

“Tell me,” Remus said. He winced; his voice sounded like he hadn’t used it in years.

Sirius sat on the bed beside him.

“She was  _ magnificent,” _ he said.

oOoOoOo

> _ Astonishing Attack At Malfoy Manor Marriage! _
> 
> _ By Rita Skeeter _
> 
> _ The sumptuous wedding reception at the illustrious Malfoy Manor yesterday was interrupted by a most shocking attack on one of the guests. The unnamed young woman was reportedly acting in an uncontrolled, animalistic manner, and it is unknown whether she perceived some sort of a slight against her simple clothing by her victim, the bride’s sister Bellatrix Lestrange, neè Black.  _
> 
> _ The attack came during the reception, minutes after Mrs. Lestrange left the room to get some air after being overcome with loving emotion on seeing her sister announced for the first time among company as Mrs. Lucius Malfoy. The bride told the Prophet, “She was overcome with pride and sisterly affection. I watched her leave to take a turn in the extensive, beautiful gardens of my husband’s estate, but I was too busy with my prominent guests to comfort her as I wished to. And now, I’ll never hear her sweet voice again!” _
> 
> _ That’s right, dear readers-- the attack by the now-deceased madwoman has stolen away the bride’s sister’s voice, possibly forever. The Healers at St. Mungo’s refused to comment except to say that the damage is quite extensive, and appears to be from a malicious curse meant to completely destroy a person’s vocal cords permanently. _
> 
> _ Mrs. Lestrange provided the full memory of her ordeal to the authorities, and preliminary reports state that the victim was alone at the beginning of the onslaught. She was taken by surprise by her heartless attacker, who seems to have been posing as a wedding guest. Mrs. Lestrange let out a heart-rending scream upon being cursed, the sound of which was cut off unnaturally by the damage of the spell. Her husband, knowing the sound of his beloved’s voice, came running outside to see the vile assailant lifting her wand to strike again, doubtless via the Killing Curse.  _
> 
> _ According to an unnamed source at Magical Law Enforcement, the horrifically scarred attacker was struck by divine retribution mid-cast, screaming in agony as she collapsed. Said Mr. Lestrange, “It appeared as if the very cells of her body were crying out against her vicious, unprovoked actions. She dropped to the ground, her wand’s power rebounding upon herself, and no spells cast thereafter had any effect on her.” _
> 
> _ Slain, no doubt, by magic’s own justice. _
> 
> _ If it comes out, after thorough investigation, that Mrs. Lestrange’s husband took it upon himself to mete out some justice of his own, this reporter could not find it within herself to blame him. For now, however, the story seems to be simple: a jealous wench, a heartless attack, a death justified, a case closed. _
> 
> _ As a final touch, The Grim was seen leaving the scene by more than one wedding guest, which cements this tale as one of tragedy and justice. _

oOoOoOo

On January 19th, Remus knocked on Professor McGonagall’s door with a box of Iraja’s journals. Her voice sounded upset when she called for him to come in, and when Remus opened the door he found that the Headmaster was also in her office. They must have been having a heated conversation, based on the emotions he could sense from both of them.

The full moon was coming. He was both grateful and crushed that his heightened senses hadn’t been in effect for Iraja’s last days with him.

“Mr. Lupin! We were just thinking of you,” Professor McGonagall said. She didn’t sound happy to see him.

“We are discussing the disappearance of a student,” Professor Dumbledore said. His penetrating stare fixed Remus in place. “Do you have any insights on where Miss Iraja Perdita could be?”

“Yes, sir,” Remus said. His grip on the box of notebooks tightened, making his hands ache.

“Where is she?” McGonagall demanded, walking over to stand in front of him.

“I am sorry to say that I don’t know,” Remus said in an anguished voice.

“But you know where she went?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then how do you not know where she is now?” Professor McGonagall’s voice exploded with fury, but the Headmaster reached out and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I am afraid that Mr. Lupin is going to confirm our suspicions, my friend,” he said to McGonagall. Then, to Remus, he said, “By any chance, was your friend Iraja in attendance at a wedding, yesterday?”

Remus closed his eyes. “Yes, sir,” he choked out.

“If you are this upset about it  _ now, _ why didn’t you stop her from leaving in the first place! She was in  _ no condition--” _

“Minerva!” Professor Dumbledore said, his voice sharp in a way that Remus had never heard before. “The boy is as devastated as you are.”

“She knew she was dying,” Remus whispered. “She wanted to make it count for something. That’s what she said. I didn’t stop her because I couldn’t take away the last free will choice she had left.” He forced his eyes open to see both adults staring at him with twin looks of sad shock. “I’ll face whatever punishment you decide I deserve.”

The two professors looked at each other, and Remus could tell that they were communicating by facial expressions. He looked away, not trying to pry in such a private moment, but what he saw when he looked down was Iraja’s journals in the box. One of the spiral Muggle notebooks was open to a page halfway up, and he recognized her handwriting.

Remus wanted to go back to feeling hollow. Right now he felt like he was so full of pain that he could spend the rest of his life hollowing himself out and still feel laden with grief.

“Remus?” It was Professor McGonagall.

“Yes, ma’am?” he said with as much of an apology in his voice as he could manage.

She smiled stiffly, but he could see sincerity in her eyes. “I apologize for my outburst. I am… also grieving the loss of a student I cared about. My shock made me retaliate. Wrongly.”

“She left you a box of journals, if that helps at all?” Remus said, holding the box up. The look on his professor’s face made his stomach twist with an odd sort of grief-happiness that wasn’t altogether unpleasant. She came over and took the box, supporting it with one hand as she reached inside and traced across the open notebook with her fingertips.

“Thank you,” McGonagall said, a catch in her voice.

“Remus, would you walk with me?” Dumbledore said, holding a beringed hand out for him to follow. The Headmaster led him out the door of the office. Remus pulled the door shut carefully and quietly behind him, earning an approving nod from the older wizard. “The manner of Miss Perdita’s passing would be distressing for most who knew her, and particularly so for people like yourself and your professor.”

“Yes, sir,” Remus said.

“By any chance, did she confide in you any particulars of her ailment?”

Remus shook his head. “I only really asked once, and she was vague about it. I didn’t want to make her upset by pushing,” he said. This answer seemed to satisfy Dumbledore, who spoke a few comforting words as he walked Remus to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

“She gave me this for you. I had no idea when she gave it to me yesterday that it would be so quickly passed on. I promise I did not peek,” Professor Dumbledore said with a gentle smile. He was holding an envelope. 

Iraja’s last message to him.

He didn’t want to take it. It took what felt like a herculean effort to raise his hand and lift it from Dumbledore’s grasp. Once his hand was empty, Dumbledore clasped him on the shoulder with a strong, solid grip. Remus looked over to see an expression of sympathy so interwoven with recognizable grief that he couldn’t stop the gasp he let out.

“Don’t hold back, Remus. She held herself apart for a reason, but your path is different. You are a private person, yes, but not quite as much as she was. You have a support system ready and waiting.”

All Remus could do was nod. He held his letter to his chest as he watched the Headmaster walk away. When he’d taken Iraja’s message he had planned to walk away from the portrait hole and read it in private, but now, he felt like he needed to see Sirius’s grin, James’s stupid hair, Peter’s encouraging smile. He told the Fat Lady the correct password and climbed through.

When Remus pulled the folded letter from its envelope, it was with the other Marauders on the couch with him. It was comforting and ordinary.

> _ Dear Remus, _
> 
> _ When I told you to give my journals to Professor McGonagall, I saw your face fall a little bit, and I realized that when I am gone, they’ll be a record of my thoughts, a tangible thing to hold that connects to me. So I started writing this letter the next chance I got. _
> 
> _ I read a book once with a flash-forward between two people who wished they could be together but circumstances forbade it. They shared a vision where they married, were happy, had children and watched them grow. At the same time that they watched this, each of them knew that their lives would differ greatly from that ideal, and it was both sad and uplifting. I want to be that sort of memory for you. I don’t want to prevent you from making choices. Please don’t let that be my legacy, Remus. _
> 
> _ You have a heart for knowledge. Please consider sharing it, whether it’s by working in a library, by teaching, or simply taking what opportunities you can to pass on your insights. Stay close to your friends, even if the fight against Bellatrix’s master threatens to tear you apart. The kind of love that caused the bond between the four of you is too precious to let it fail through mistrust. _
> 
> _ Someday, someone else will love you like I did. Let her. Love her back? _
> 
> _ Love, _
> 
> _ Iraja _

  
  



	5. Part II; Chapter Five: Broken Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione wakes up in the Department of Mysteries.

##  Part II: Colleagues

###  Chapter Five: Broken Ground

**February 1998**

Hermione Granger opened her eyes to find herself lying on a bed in a small room. A single lamp illuminated the space enough for her to see that there were no windows and no other furniture. She saw the outline of a door on the wall closest to her feet. The quality of the light was dim enough that she couldn’t really tell what color the walls or ceiling were, but the fact that they looked utilitarian comforted her a bit. It meant she was clearly not in the Malfoy mansion any longer.

She closed her eyes again. Even that action hurt. Hermione thought about her last memory of gathering her magic and anger in preparation to kill Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione had recognized her mistake as soon as she’d pulled in all of her will at once; she had used every bit of the energy she’d had, leaving none to keep her upright, none to keep her  _ breathing. _

Her final thought had been that casting the silencing spell on the dark witch had made the difference between her own death from retaliation and dying from the degeneration that came from time travel. Bellatrix had stood there with her hand to her throat, screaming with no sound, and Hermione had collapsed, falling on top of the wand she’d dropped from fingers unable to grip even something that lightweight.

She had told herself before the wedding that she was not allowed to touch Remus’s gift around her neck under any circumstances, worried that her enemies would destroy it on purpose if they knew it had any kind of value other than adornment. She hadn’t had the strength to try to touch it when she was falling anyway. Now, lying on a cot in an unknown place with every molecule of her body crying out in pain, Hermione wondered if it was still there.

Her hands were already resting atop the blanket on her stomach, so with her teeth gritted against the pain she knew she would feel, Hermione slid her right hand up towards her neck. That simple movement of inches was enough to make her light-headed. The feeling was very similar to how she’d felt in the garden at Malfoy Manor, as if she’d used energy she didn’t really have. Her hand was now lying over where the pendant should be, but she couldn’t feel any shape beneath the rough fabric of what might be a hospital gown.

Did St. Mungo’s use hospital gowns?

Hermione made the effort to feel around with her left hand for her wand. It wasn’t there, and she started to gasp for breath from the effort of that simple search.

The door opened abruptly, and Hermione narrowed her eyes against the brightness of the light coming from outside the room.

“You’re awake! That’s good,” a woman’s voice said.

Hermione couldn’t see the person clearly because of the light streaming into the room around their silhouette. Suddenly, the air around her warmed up, the light in the room refreshed away from the impersonal white light to a more cheerful yellow, and the intruder walked in and shut the door. Those few actions shifted the mood in the room away from an industrial, secret prison kind of feeling, and Hermione felt dizzy with confusion. Was she dead or not? She knew she  _ should _ be, she  _ expected _ to be, but this was an odd afterlife.

“I’m Healer Meryl. I work here in the Department of Mysteries,” the woman said, coming over and taking Hermione’s hand. Healer Meryl’s hands were warm, but not clammy. “You’re no doubt confused, maybe a little traumatized, but that’s to be expected. The experience of Time Death is unpleasant-- I know, I went through it once, too,” the woman said.

“No…” Hermione said, the sense of dread and horror rising. “Time travel is fatal. I died. I should be  _ dead. _ That’s what all the books said!” The  _ weeks _ of pain, Remus watching helplessly, the decisions she’d made to research a way to defeat Voldemort, everything she went through! Those moments lost their gravity if she could just wake up back in her own time. Hermione tried to pull her hand free of the healer’s, but didn’t have the strength.

Healer Meryl just nodded matter-of-factly. “It is a kind of death. Your body can’t survive the temporal forces of being in the wrong time, but killing yourself doesn’t bring you back, only Time Death. There’s no way out of it if you want to come back in one piece.”

“What if I didn’t? What if I was ready to die?” Hermione cried, her vision blurry with tears. She felt like she had deceived the person she’d come to love most. If she’d stayed away, if she’d been stronger, he wouldn’t have had to go through that at all.

Infuriatingly, Healer Meryl’s cheerful attitude didn’t dim an iota at Hermione’s outburst. She simply patted Hermione’s hand, and when the woman let go, Hermione felt cold in a way she hadn’t beforehand.

“You’ll get better,” the healer said knowingly. Without asking, she cast another charm, this time on Hermione’s bedclothes, freshening them up as well as warming them. It was comforting at a time that Hermione would have preferred to stay uncomfortable. After walking over to the door and opening it to leave, Healer Meryl smiled with the strength of Molly Weasley at a holiday dinner. “What is the phrase? Time heals all wounds?” 

Hermione would actually rather it didn’t.

oOoOoOo

Hermione lay in her bed without her wand and without her sanity, or so it felt. She was too weak to turn out the light, and it seemed as if hours had passed since the cruelly cheerful healer had dropped by. She’d given precious little information to Hermione, and what she had relayed was enough to destroy what little sense of self Hermione had left. Every time she tried to rest at all, she just saw Remus’s face. Happy, serious, loving, mournful, and finally stricken.

She started to picture her attack on Bellatrix in an attempt to drive away the images of Remus that tormented her so much. She imagined the feel of her wand in her hand, the way Bellatrix had looked at her with scathing curiosity at first, mocking her dress just like Sirius had predicted. The energy Hermione had pulled on to cast the silencing spell had felt like it had all come from around her rather than internally. She lay in bed and remembered that moment, picturing herself standing in the Malfoy’s rose garden, the magically enhanced flowers not meant to be blooming in February. In her mind’s eye, the color from each rose smudged forward toward her as she started casting, and releasing the spell felt like she was flinging a rose thorn unerringly toward Bellatrix Lestrange’s throat.

Bellatrix had started to scream when she’d seen Hermione trace out the spell, and the sound was cut off as if sliced by a sword when the blood-red spell collided with her.

The satisfaction of the memory was enough to carry Hermione off to sleep, but when she woke up again hours later, she was terribly thirsty and desperate for darkness. The light had once again dimmed and flattened out into a soft white, and the room’s tiny size was oppressive.

It felt like a step towards the Dark Arts for Hermione, but she called up her memories of attacking Bellatrix again, unwilling to lie on her back in this cell and think of Remus. He knew what it was like to be trapped in his own body, unwilling to change into something harmful to his loved ones, but unable to stop it. She felt an awful kinship with him in that moment, and it felt wrong, wrong,  _ wrong. _

Remus was everything opposite to Bellatrix.  _ She _ was the monster, she  _ chose _ to be a monster, and he was all that was light and good and kind.

Hermione closed her eyes so tightly that her head began to throb with a different kind of pain than the unearthly exhaustion she felt in this new existence of hers. She pictured Bellatrix, her hand at her throat, and remembered how it felt to gather her magic again.

Remus’s face, full of grief, stared at her framed by the window of her room in the Hospital Wing.

“NO!” Hermione shouted, the effort of drawing in the breath to scream almost as painful as the scraping ache of the denial leaving her throat. She felt so tired, and it was an imperfect reflection of how she felt when she’d been dying.

Hermione opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. She’d exhausted herself, that had been the last straw for her body. Time Death, Healer Meryl had said. The thing was, Hermione felt that same bone-deep exhaustion now.

Could she wring her body dry of energy twice? Would it bring the relief she was longing for?

What if she tried to turn off the twice-damned lamp that denied her the darkness she craved? Could she overexert herself enough to pass out?

Hermione decided to test her theory by trying again to feel for the pendant that Remus had given her that last day they were together. If she reached up and couldn’t feel the chain, then it was gone, he was gone, and nothing mattered anymore. If it was gone, she’d throw herself out of bed at the lamp and let oblivion pull her back down to earth again.

If it was there, then  _ maybe _ she’d consider not doing it.

She reached up, feeling at the skin of her neck over her left shoulder. Nothing was there.

Hermione felt a deep sense of loss and, newly determined, she threw herself up into a sitting position, feeling that odd sensation that her bones were hollow, that she was without enough mass to support herself. She launched her upper body over the edge of the bed, and as she did so, her braided hair fell from where it had been pinned up. Its heavy weight caught something, a lock of hair perhaps, against her neck, and she lifted her hand to pull it free even as she lurched toward the lamp, feeling dizzy and about to collapse.

It wasn’t a lock of hair. It was the chain of Remus’s pendant, caught in her braid and draped unnaturally over her left shoulder. She just managed to pull the crystal out of her gown to stare at in heartbroken gratitude before she collapsed in a heap beside the lamp, unconsciousness rushing up to greet her like an old friend.

oOoOoOo

When Hermione woke again, it was to the unmistakable sound of heavy drapes being drawn open. She really wanted to lay resolutely still with her eyes shut, but the voice she heard was so unexpected that she opened her eyes despite herself.

“Of all the places for one of my errant students to be hiding, I did not expect it to be the Department of Mysteries!” Professor McGonagall said in a voice of brisk disapproval.

They were in the polar opposite of the room she had passed out in. It was large, the ceiling arched high above the four-poster bed Hermione was laying in. Crown moulding in a dark, rich wood decorated the corners and stretched down to frame the deep forest green wallpaper. The drapes were velvet, which seemed only natural in a room as tastefully opulent as this one. She wondered if she really  _ was _ dead, because the swing between the two spaces was so wide that some magical odd purgatory such as the Veil might be the only explanation.

“We were on a mission,” Hermione said. Her voice sounded weak and foreign to her, too high even than her regular voice, the one that was higher than Iraja’s voice. Thinking of Iraja made Hermione try to lift her head enough to see her professor. Professor McGonagall looked as she always did, and Hermione felt ashamed for ever thinking otherwise.

“Yes, good, time to sit up and get some color back in your cheeks,” McGonagall said. She walked over and before Hermione could protest the pillows behind her had been doubled with a wand tap, and she was sitting up.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but when she made eye contact with McGonagall, she felt pinned down by the emotions behind that gaze.

“The Unspeakables said you tried to escape,” she said disapprovingly.

“I didn’t!” Hermione protested. She wanted to add that she was trying to turn off the lamp, not leave the room, but the direct stare from her favorite professor felt like a condemnation to her. She  _ had _ wanted to escape. Completely escape. She had failed. Hermione looked down at her hands.

“They don’t usually call in an outsider,” McGonagall told her, sitting down on the edge of Hermione’s bed. “You were more stubborn than most.”

Hermione couldn’t help the tiny smile of pride that threatened to upend her sullen anger. “Did they--”

“Tell me what had  _ really _ happened to you, what you’d left out of the journals? Yes. They rely on quite a bit of Arithmancy, the Unspeakables do. Your life-line is connected directly to Harry Potter’s, and their second in command was so concerned with how Dolores Umbridge and her ilk would react to their monthly report, they brought me in to help get you out of there.”

Hermione shut her eyes. “You should have left me behind. I’m no good to anyone like this.”

“That would be a lovely martyr’s statement if it mattered, but it does not,” McGonagall snapped. “Hogwarts resembles an Argus Filch fever dream right now. There are students being threatened with  _ Azkaban, _ and Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are still missing. You are our only link with them, and only you can tell us what we can be doing to help. Wanting to die is all very well when it’s just you, but I’m afraid you’ll have to get in line behind quite a few people who have been standing in the queue for  _ months.” _

Hermione had opened her eyes again while her professor went through her tirade, and afterwards, the two of them sat and looked at each other in shock for a full minute.

“I’m not… I don’t know how to want to live,” Hermione whispered. “I wasn’t trying to go back to my own time. I spent all my time on classwork and--”

“--your plan. Which you gave to me. Do you know that when I figured out what you’d done, I very nearly burned everything?” McGonagall said in exasperation.

“What? But, I didn’t put anything from the future--”

“You didn’t, that’s true. I couldn’t possibly know that until I’d read it through, though, and even then, you could have left hints! Don’t tell me you had perfect intentions,” she said reproachfully. “If you truly swapped places with a different wedding attack martyr, I’ll eat the Sorting Hat!”

Everything Hermione could think to say in response was guaranteed to earn her more disapproval from McGonagall, so she decided to try to deflect with the only information that might manage to do that.

“We think our adversary has figured out a terrible way to attempt immortality,” Hermione told Professor McGonagall. “Harry is certain he knows how to stop him.”

“I hope your trip into the past was a complication to the plan, unless you are going to tell me Bellatrix Lestrange is the key to defeating her master?” McGonagall said tartly.

Hermione nodded, noting that the action wasn’t as painful as she’d expected. “We were attacked by Death Eaters in Luna Lovegood’s house,” she said with a wry smile. The ‘saints preserve us’ expression on McGonagall’s face upon hearing that was gratifying. “Professor… where are we?” Hermione asked bluntly. “I want to tell you what Harry, Ron, and I were doing, and how important it is, but I want to know I can speak freely.”

“We are in a small section of the Potter Family Estate,” McGonagall told Hermione with a rare smile. “As a safehouse, it is nearly impregnable. The estate magically locked down when Harry’s grandparents died, but as they considered Sirius one of their adopted children, he discovered that he was able to freely come and go via the underground passage. After he escorted Order members inside, we were able to Apparate in and out. There is a safe zone we need to observe, but from the outside, the property looks as abandoned as it has been for nearly two decades.”

Hermione had caught her breath on hearing Sirius’s name, unable to hide her delight. After she had finished speaking, Professor McGonagall looked at Hermione for a long minute.

“I do not want to imagine where we would be without Sirius Black right now,” she finally said. “However, I don’t wish to condone meddling with time!”

It was Hermione’s turn to look at her professor. In her memory, Sirius Black was a thorn in the side of many Order members thanks to his impulsiveness and bad attitude about being confined to his childhood home. What had happened in the two years since he had originally died that he was a valued member of the Order? In her wildest dreams, she had never imagined such a turnaround. She’d hoped to save him, but this?

“Oh, don’t stare at me like that. Sirius Black is a frustrating  _ miscreant _ whose help I am still quite grateful to have received on many occasions,” McGonagall said in cold irritation. “Despite my misgivings I will admit to being happy your suffering has been for some gain.” 

“Two years and some months, at least,” Hermione said before she could stop herself.

“Two --!” Professor McGonagall stood up, clearly signaling an end to that conversation, her shocked reaction ruthlessly suppressed in a few seconds, replaced by her typical stern demeanor. “Well. You’ve been moved into our care prematurely for your safety. There is a series of potions you are meant to take daily, and you should feel more like yourself by the end of the week.”

“Wait-- Professor, what about the research I left for you? What about Harry’s plan?” Hermione carefully sidestepped the memory of who she’d designated the task to.

“You need to recover. I promise I will discuss those things with you in a week’s time at minimum, but you’ve had enough excitement for one day. Is there anything else you need to ask me about?”

There was a knock at the door.

“Minerva? You told me to come get you if you were in there for longer than twenty minutes,” Remus Lupin said, not opening the door.

Hermione hadn’t expected to hear his voice again, much less hear it as the voice of a person whose relationship to her was so drastically different than it had been in the past. She sucked in a breath and shut her eyes, feeling the way her cheeks instantly suffused with blood.

“Thank you, Remus. I’ll be right out!” McGonagall called out. “Will you tell him?” she asked Hermione in a hushed whisper, her face showing nothing that would betray her opinion.

“No, how could I? I never intended to-- How could I take him away from his wife? I would never--” Hermione stumbled over her words, covering her hot, embarrassed face with her hands.

“Wife?” McGonagall said, clearly shocked again. “Oh. Oh dear.”

Slowly, Hermione lowered her hands to catch a glimpse of the dismay on Professor McGonagall’s face. Her own face must have shown disbelief, because McGonagall shook her head again. No wife.

A thousand denials bubbled up, but Hermione was speechless to express them.

“Don’t distress yourself too much. Perhaps having Sirius--” McGonagall started to say, but she stopped and shook her head. She took a deep breath and looked at Hermione with compassion in her eyes. “You couldn’t have known. The Unspeakable I met with said they keep the truth about Time Death carefully controlled. Half of time travelers don’t survive it at all, and of those that do, not all of them come back all the way, if you know what I mean.” McGonagall turned and with an unexpected intensity, she cupped Hermione’s face with one hand. “Don’t leave yourself behind. You can survive this. We need you.”

With that, Minerva McGonagall turned and walked over to the door, opened it, and left without a backwards glance. When the door had closed completely, Hermione pulled a pillow from the stack behind her and put it over her head. The cool fabric felt good against the blush that still covered her face.

Remus Lupin wasn’t married. It sounded like the very idea that he would  _ get _ married was considered unlikely! If that meant that there wasn’t even a flirtation with Nymphadora Tonks on the horizon, Hermione felt guilt at levels that must be previously unrecorded by man.

Remus Lupin wasn’t married, and he was here, in the same house as she was, right now.

Hermione grabbed a second pillow and added it to the pile on her head.

Sirius Black was alive! She hugged the pillows, coming up for air after a minute or two. Her plan had succeeded. As soon as possible, Hermione wanted to find a way to get any information on Neville’s parents. 

She laid her chin down on the edge of the pillows she was still hugging.  _ Remus. _

She’d cost him two loves, now.

Hermione bit her lip. If McGonagall needed her to look like she was embracing life to talk to her about the things she’d written in Iraja’s journals, that was actually encouraging. It might mean that her theory had borne out. It might mean her Null Magic spell was possible. It was an incredibly complex spell, something not just anyone could cast, unlike most spells. There was an emotional component as well as a willing sacrifice of  _ all _ of a person’s magical potential, all at once. It wasn’t the sort of thing she thought Harry would be able to cast, but it wasn’t designed for Harry. 

Hermione hadn’t really thought about who would be able to cast it when she’d started to design the spell in the past, mostly because she’d expected to die without ever knowing who it might be. If she’d really thought about it at the time, she would have said it was designed for Professor McGonagall. Now, the caster didn’t have to be McGonagall, which was a good thing, because Hermione didn’t know whether Professor McGonagall would be willing to sacrifice herself the way the spell required. She might not want to leave Hogwarts without one of its most vocal and vociferous supporters. Now, it could be someone else, someone who had already tried to sacrifice herself and failed.

Now, it could be Hermione.

oOoOoOo

Potter Manor had house elves.

Hermione found that there was a very big difference between house elves that served at Hogwarts and house elves that served a household. Nannae was warm and maternal in a way that made Hermione almost feel good about letting her help. She also absolutely  _ adored _ Sirius, and mentioned him often.

There was no way Hermione wanted to ever let Nannae know that Sirius’s continued existence was greatly influenced by her actions. Doubtless, Hermione wouldn’t ever have to lift a finger at Potter Manor for the rest of her life, if that became elf knowledge. As it was, the tiny, fierce house elf saw herself as the only being capable of taking care of Hermione, and she had apparently threatened all the other Order members to stay away. The only reason Hermione knew this was that Sirius had slipped her a note. 

The look on McGonagall’s face when she realized that Hermione had truly saved Sirius from an unknown dark fate had been compelling, but the letter from an alive Sirius meant  _ everything _ to Hermione.

> _ Hermione, _
> 
> _ Could you write how you are doing on the back of this, please? Nannae is a tiny, impressive, bloody terror about privacy and your need to recover, and I’m starting to despair that you’re really alive in there. Minerva said you were feeling pretty defeated after whatever happened that sent you to the Department of Mysteries. _
> 
> _ I’m not asking what happened (I am. I’m asking. TELL ME.), but I worry about you. Don’t make me bribe the elf, Hermione. I know how you feel about that. _
> 
> _ We’re happy to bribe YOU, though. Just not with socks, if you’re going to try to free the elves here. I couldn’t live without Nannae. Nannae, Firewhiskey, and irritating McGonagall keeps me alive. _
> 
> _ Put me out of my curious misery! _
> 
> _ Love, _
> 
> _ Sirius _

Four days after she woke up at Potter Manor, Hermione tucked her letter from Sirius into her trouser pocket and told Nannae that she was ready to have dinner at the table. If she was going to convince McGonagall that she was well enough to be told about the Null Magic spell, she would have to look like she could handle being social. No one had to know that she felt dead inside.

  
  



	6. Fertilized Field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione settles in at the new Order headquarters, and Remus comes home from his mission.

###  Chapter Six: Fertilized Field

Hermione had been looking forward to finding her own way to the dinner table, but Nannae reminded her there was a ‘safe zone’ they needed to keep to, and told her that Sirius would be by to escort her. Hermione made her bed and sat on one of the high-backed day chairs facing the door and waited, tracing her fingertips over her wand in a way she’d come to find comforting. It had taken weeks of time in the past to reconcile herself to a different wand. 

Harry had her real one, her  _ Hermione _ wand, after his had been broken by her blasting curse in Godric’s Hollow. This one was made of redwood, intricately carved with a unicorn hair core. At the time she bought it, she was already Iraja Perdita, scars, black hair, and all. She’d lay awake nights in Ravenclaw tower and ask herself if it was the fight against Voldemort that had her so changed that she didn’t end up with her first wand. The mad rush to figure out where she was and understand that she had no way back had been traumatic in and of itself, and that was after six years at Hogwarts and the Horcrux hunt.

When she’d found herself in the past, she had gone to Dumbledore as soon as she could, dressed in the hooded robes she’d had with her in her beaded bag. He had soothed her and given her an identity that kept her from worrying about changing things by her simple existence there. They’d agreed on her changed appearance, and Hermione had asked him for something that would be a constant reminder that she couldn’t be fully herself. The scars he’d placed on her face pulled at her mouth with every word she spoke. They’d been a potent reminder that she wasn’t Hermione, but they hadn’t quite been enough to force her to keep to herself, in the end.

Dumbledore had also told her that Fate was a strange mistress, and that she shouldn’t steal credit for the things Fate put in motion.

Hermione wondered what he would say to her actions to save Sirius. Had she stolen Fate’s credit there? How odd to think that now she was the one who had most recently spoken to Albus Dumbledore, she out of the entire world here in 1998. She was grateful that this wasn’t the case with Sirius.

A quick knock and Sirius poked his head in at the door. “Ready?”

“Ready,” she agreed. He opened the door the whole way and instead of leading her, he held his arm out so she could tuck hers in to be escorted.

Hermione felt tongue-tied. Here was Sirius, vibrant and alive, confident and at ease. He asked her a question, and she didn’t answer, too caught up in listening to the way his voice sounded exactly like she’d remembered yet older than the last time she’d heard him speak.

“Hermione?” Sirius asked, stopping at a set of double doors that probably led to the dining room.

“I’m sorry. I-- It felt like a long time that I was ill, months really, and you’re the same person you were since I last saw you at Grimmauld Place. It’s comforting,” she said, pulling her arm free of his and giving him an impulsive side hug.

“I make a great reality check? I can live with that,” Sirius said, smiling. 

He made a show of opening both doors into the room. There was indeed a long dining table, but only one end of it was set with plates and silverware. She sat down along the side, and Sirius took the head of the table. The food was simple and delicious, she found, and there was no standing on ceremony, for all that they were surrounded by a level of fanciness that she was wholly unused to. 

“Did you visit here often as a teenager?” she asked, the first of the two to speak since they’d sat down. Sirius had been quiet, glancing over at her periodically.

“Practically lived here,” Sirius said, grinning. “So did Moony, in the summers. He sends his regrets. He has a network of wizard werewolves who have been attempting to make headway on loosening Fenrir’s grip on his packs, so he had to miss dinner.

Hermione dropped her fork. “He lives here too?” Before she could pull her wand free to  _ Accio _ her fork from wherever it had landed, Sirius did it for her.

“I thought Minerva told you? The two of us stay here, but it’s a safe meeting place for the Order. Plenty of rooms for emergencies. We put you in Harry’s parents’ room. More space,” Sirius explained.

Remus lived at Potter Manor because he didn’t have a home with his wife, because he didn’t have a wife.  _ Because you ruined that for him, _ Hermione thought to herself viciously.  _ And you remember how much Tonks had to beg and plead for him to consider her! ‘Too old for you,’ he’d say to her. She’s much older than you are. Now he’s alone, and it’s your fault. _

“You’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Sirius was saying. Hermione had missed anything else he said, but he was looking at her as if she’d had a very odd reaction. She supposed she had.

“I’m still adjusting. I like Professor Lupin,” Hermione said, falling back on a safe form of address. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to say his first name without everyone who overheard it knowing her secret. Just seeing him was going to be a real trial, she realized. She needed to find out when the next full moon was. Remus had told her he sensed her emotions that day in the Hospital Wing. He’d definitely be able to sense them here.

“Ha, definitely call him that. He makes the most brilliant grumpy face when I remind him he was a professor!” Sirius said, taking a huge bite of his roll.

“I’m afraid I’m out of touch with the moon phases, when is the next full moon?” Hermione asked, hoping it sounded like an innocent enough inquiry.

“We had one about two weeks ago, I think? Next one is March 12th.” Sirius must have seen her brows furrow as she wondered what the date was, because he elaborated. “It’s February 25th. Minerva said your sense of time would be all wrong; I forgot.”

“That’s almost two months since I was with Harry and Ron!” Hermione said, shocked. Sirius reached out and rested his large hand over hers.

“I joked about telling me what happened, in that letter, but you don’t have to. Only if it’ll help.”

“Reverse psychology?” Hermione said, arching a brow at him.

He feigned shock. “Would I do that?”

“Absolutely.”

He turned his body in her direction and reached out with his other hand. Hermione placed her free hand in his, curious to know what he would say. He was physically different than the Sirius she’d seen not long ago, but his eyes were the same. She remembered his eyes being manic and frightening in her third year after rescuing him with the Time Turner, and angry and lonely at Grimmauld Place, but he was happy and healthy and safe, now.

“Minerva was afraid you weren’t going to survive. Whatever happened, she said it was a huge burden on your mind. I know I’m the very image of a reckless vagrant, but I’m here for you, love. I might be the only adult you know who can’t sit in moral judgment of your choices.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. “What in Merlin’s name do you think happened to me?!” His argument was quite persuasive.

“You, Harry, and Ron have been missing for months. Harry told us you had a mission; for all I know, you were in the Department of Mysteries stealing something!” Sirius said, letting go of her hands and standing up. “Come on, let’s go sit somewhere more comfortable.”

“All right.” She got up and followed him down the hallway, beside a carved wooden bannister, and into a small library space.

“Wait, shit!” Sirius said, stopping in the doorway and blocking her further entry into the room.

“What?”

“Are you going to be able to pay attention to me at all in there?” he asked her with mock seriousness.

“Yes!” she said, pretending to be affronted. Once he’d walked in and sat on a round tapestried ottoman and she’d settled into the opposing couch, she added, “I am perfectly capable of reading and conversing at the same time. Ask Harry.”

Sirius picked up a pillow and lobbed it at her. She dodged it with a squeak and they both laughed for a few seconds before Sirius said, “Lay it on me, Hermione.”

“I can’t explain everything that happened,” Hermione said, twisting her fingers together in her lap. “Time passed differently there. I experienced things physically that haven’t left any marks that are visible,” she said.

“I get that,” Sirius said. He pulled the neckline of his shirt wide, and she saw a glimpse of the tattoos she knew were there. “These were part of my trying to visualize exactly that.”

Hermione traced the places on her face where her own scars as Iraja used to be. It felt wrong that they weren’t there, in a way. She felt much more like Iraja than Hermione now-- scarred, despairing, determined to make her death count.

She told Sirius that she, Harry, and Ron had visited a friend’s house and disturbed a magical artifact that pulled just Hermione into a kind of ‘temporal vortex.’ That afterwards, she’d had to basically wait to escape from it, experiencing a kind of death. She admitted to him that she didn’t feel fully back to normal, and asked him if he would mind if she spent her time in the library. He listened without teasing her, expressed heartfelt sympathy for what she’d gone through, and then cut down to the heart of her request.

“You want to hide, don’t you?” Sirius asked. “When it was me, I couldn’t stand to be alone. I wanted everyone around-- Harry, Remus, even the whole Weasley family, if Molly wasn’t in a nitpicking mood. But you, you’re an introvert. What you’re really asking is if I can keep everyone out.”

She didn’t answer, instead looking at him plaintively before glancing around the room at the books crammed into every free space in the cozy room. Even the ladders built into the shelves had books tucked into them in places.

“I can keep everyone out but Remus, love. You know he wouldn’t listen when it comes to the library anyway. And no, that doesn’t mean you can carry half of it up to your room, no matter how big it is,” Sirius told her.

She shut her eyes, still sensitive to even Lupin’s name spoken by someone else. Her heart leaped at the very  _ idea _ of him, and every time it did, she felt a profound sense of guilt. Remus was her weakness.

Sirius was still waiting for a response, so she nodded.

“Go on, then. I feel loved to the extreme that you lasted this long!” he told her, gesturing to the shelves around them. He stood up, and Hermione got up and walked over to kiss his shoulder, just as she had done to say goodbye to him before going after Bellatrix as Iraja. The very fact that she could kiss him  _ today _ was a testament to what she’d accomplished back then, and that satisfaction kept her in high spirits for the rest of the day.

oOoOoOo

On February 28th, Hermione got a message from Minerva. Because their occupation of the seemingly abandoned Potter property left up wards which protected the outside perimeter of the house, they couldn’t receive owls. McGonagall owled it to Bill Weasley instead, and he dropped by to deliver it. True to his promise, Sirius brought her the letter without letting Bill do so in person.

“Tell Bill thank you, will you? I wish I could tell him where Ron is, but I can at least reassure him that when we were all together in the forest, we were always very careful. Wards every night, all of it,” Hermione said to Sirius.

“I will. Got a letter from Remus, as well. He should be home tomorrow!” Sirius held the scroll up with obvious happiness.

“I’m leaving you to yourself too much, Sirius. I’m sorry,” Hermione said, surprised to find she meant every word. As much as she wanted to be by herself, she didn’t want Sirius to suffer without anyone to spend time with.

“I imagine you’ll come around eventually. Even if it’s just the need to correct someone for their grammar,” Sirius teased. He left shortly after that, and Hermione was able to open McGonagall’s letter.

> _ Hermione, _
> 
> _ I am finding it difficult to leave Hogwarts at this time. The research you left with me was sound, as you no doubt know. The spell is viable, though I haven’t been able to test it with any efficacy, due to the nature of its effects. _
> 
> _ Unfortunately, without the emotional and sacrificial components, the spell does not appear to work. This is distressing news, as there are only a few people who would be able to implement the spell against its intended target. Without that crucial physical access, the caster would be eliminated before they could even get close enough to cast it. _
> 
> _ You implied that your closest companion has a plan. I understand the necessity of ultimate secrecy, and will endeavor to orchestrate a meeting. Please be prepared to ask for any and all assistance required to set your companion’s plan in motion. Despite my despair in finding an appropriate caster for your scarred self’s plan of attack, I promise you that there are not very many lengths I will not go to, if they are required. _
> 
> _ I do hope you are feeling better. I tell myself you must be spending your days in the library, taking rest and rejuvenation from your favorite pastime. _
> 
> _ I hope to schedule a meeting by the 5th of March, _
> 
> _ Minerva McGonagall _

Hermione was both encouraged and frustrated. She had hoped to see McGonagall as soon as possible so she could start learning the spell sequences. Waiting was something that Hermione really hated doing, but generally anything worth waiting for was worth researching, so she usually spent her time doing that. She doubted that the kind of books she’d found at Potter Manor so far would be able to assist there! However, if she were able to reconstruct her research about possible Horcruxes, that would be better than nothing.

If she could somehow get access to Hogwarts, she might be able to retrieve her beaded bag. Once she had understood there was no way home to her own time, Hermione had buried it in a warded hole on the school grounds. It was a unique and recognizable accessory, and many of the things inside were anachronisms in the time she was trapped in. Because she’d believed her death would be permanent, there was no reason for her to make it easy to retrieve the bag from its hiding place.

She started her response to McGonagall, expressing happiness at the news of the Null Magic spell’s potential, being careful to use the same obscuring language. She added the part about wishing for her research and hinted that she’d like to possibly retrieve something precious she’d had to leave behind at Hogwarts. As she wrote that, her hand snuck up to curl around the crystal she wore. 

Rem-- no,  _ Professor Lupin _ was coming back tomorrow. 

Hermione told herself that she’d left more than one precious thing at Hogwarts in 1978. She tried to convince her heart that just because he was here in 1998, it didn’t mean that she didn’t leave her love for him in the past.

Her heart wasn’t listening to her, though.

oOoOoOo

“Happy Birthday, Ron!” Hermione said when she woke the next day. While still lying in bed, she conjured the image of a birthday cake in the air above her, waving her wand to send an imaginary breeze through to blow the candles out. She knew that was probably far nicer than what Ron would actually have, wherever he and Harry were hiding. She missed them; her first month or two in the past had been especially difficult without the two of them. Her experience as Iraja had been framed around keeping herself apart as much as possible, and having to do that while simultaneously missing Ron and Harry had been awful. The missing them had eased somewhat because when she’d expected to die, she’d mourned their loss.

She wondered if that was why she still felt so focused on Remus-- she hadn’t mourned him. She hadn’t had the chance. Now she would be forced not only to mourn losing him, but do so with him living in the same house. 

Hermione had no idea how she was going to feel about seeing Lupin. She tried to go about her new daily routine as normal, but felt a constant low-level excitement/anxiety hybrid that put her on edge. She had written down the date for when Sirius said the next full moon was, but she wanted to be certain about it. For at least four days before the full moon and then three or so days afterwards, Hermione intended to stay completely sequestered in her room. After spending a few glorious days in the library cataloguing the books there, she planned to spend the day today looking for any spells that would isolate a person’s scent from predators, animals, and human hybrids. She had just over a week to come up with a solution that wouldn’t make anyone suspicious. 

Hermione ate lunch by herself. Sirius had been spending time decursing and de-warding the most vicious of the house’s defenses, so they could expand their living and working space at Potter Manor. Sometimes the spell sequences would take over an hour once he started them. Hermione was keen to help him when she felt up to it, but she still felt periodic weakness in her joints that reminded her that she’d gone through quite a hard physical ordeal in the travel back from 1978. She’d have to limit herself to what mild physical exertion there was to be had in the library. After lunch, she climbed up to the top shelf in the library where the collection of books about protection spells were kept.

Her hair had grown in length quite a bit, almost to the point of being about the same now as it had been when she’d magically lengthened it as Iraja. Hermione had always enjoyed having her hair down in libraries. She treated it as a curtain against the outside world as she read, but today, her hair was a hot, bushy burden, and she was getting frustrated.

“All right, that’s  _ it,” _ she said, jamming her wand in between two books. She threw her head back and shook it, reaching into her pocket for an elastic hair band. As she twisted it around her mass of brown curls, Hermione grumbled under her breath. “One more curl falling in my face and I’ll cut the whole lot  _ off!” _

“I came home expecting to find you recovering from fighting for your life, but it seems the battle isn’t over yet!”

It was Remus. Hermione froze, faced away from him on the ladder. She’d just put her hair up in what was obvious frustration, and there was no way she could simply pull it back down to hide from him! 

“Oh, hello!” Hermione said, with false cheerfulness. She allowed herself to count to five, trying to calm her breathing down from what felt like Lavender Brown levels of fluttering excitement. She waved a hand in his general direction and then gestured to the stack of three books hovering beside her. “Just taking advantage of the library. I’d come down to say hi but I’m still getting back to strength, and hovering these up three meters in midair is a bit taxing.”

She heard him walk closer and fought the impulse to turn around and look at him.  _ What do you expect to see? He looks like Professor Lupin. You know, your TEACHER? _ she chastised herself. 

Lupin spoke an incantation she couldn’t quite make out, and the shelf beside her hovering books suddenly grew an offshoot that neatly slid underneath them.

“There’s no reason to waste your energy keeping them up so high, next time. Use an extension charm on the shelf. I imagine you’d be loathe to antagonize the Hogwarts librarian, but usually in a private library each shelf is reinforced magically to allow growth like this as a matter of course,” Lupin said. His tone was helpful and kind.

Hermione looked down at him before she could stop herself. He was older, but the way he looked now was familiar to her in a way that made her ache. He was still Remus, just with more life lived, more kindness shown, more knowledge shared. He was the young man she loved combined with the favorite professor she’d admired and the Order member she was proud to associate with.

She loved him more than ever.

“Hermione?”

“I’m sorry, for a second there I was far away,” Hermione admitted. Her hand hurt where she was holding onto the ladder tightly, just out of sight. “Thank you, that’s clever. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it!”

He walked closer and rested a hand on a shelf next to her ladder, his other hand in his pocket. “Well like I said, I imagine you’ve been trained well by Madam Pince.”

“Can you imagine her face if I extended a shelf in her library?” Hermione asked with a shudder. She picked up the three books, putting them under one arm after placing her wand in the book she was most interested in, and started climbing back down the ladder. Halfway down, one of the books caught on the wood, and she couldn’t keep her balance. Remus let out a sound of surprise and lunged forward to catch her right as her body twisted sideways, ripping her fingers free from their grip on the ladder. She heard him cast a quick stasis spell on the books so they didn’t land on top of them. 

He caught her as she fell sideways toward him, and with one strong arm he pulled her up against his chest as he bent his knees to brace himself. Hermione tried to catch her breath. The right side of her face was crushed against Remus’s chest, his arm angled across her front. He smelled familiar, she recognized a particular hitch in his breathing, and her confused heart simply  _ hurt. _

“Thank you,” she croaked, her voice sounding strange thanks to his tight hold on her. He seemed to recognize this and eased her upright before stepping back a tiny bit, one hand on either side of her upper arms as if ready to catch her again, just in case. Hermione cleared her throat and rubbed at a sore spot near her neck. “In hindsight,  _ that _ was the place for a levitation charm,” she said wryly.

Remus burst out laughing. “I apologize if I hurt you at all?”

“I am grateful not to have landed face-first on the floor, Professor,” Hermione said, cheered by his laughter despite herself. Remus plucked all three books out of his stasis charm and gestured for her to pick a place to sit.

“ _ Advanced Concealment Charms,” _ Remus said, reading the title of the top book. He opened it to where she’d used her wand as a bookmark and read out the chapter title. “‘Masking Your Presence Against Unicorns and Werewolves?’”

Thinking quickly, Hermione said, “There were some charms that I wished I knew when I was on the run with Ron and Harry. I’m not with them now, but I feel like I ought to know them. It’s probably silly--”

“It isn’t. Minerva said the three of you were spending time in a tent in the forest?” Remus interrupted. Hermione nodded, choosing to sit at the desk instead of the two person couch.

“There were some things that Professor Dumbledore asked Harry to look for. We didn’t think we could move freely after Bill and Fleur’s wedding.” Hermione reached out for the books, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. Remus and Tonks had attended Bill and Fleur’s wedding as a married couple. Their wedding had been in July, a month beforehand. Hermione grabbed her wand out of the book and started to rub her thumb along its carvings.

“I didn’t mean to remind you of something distressing,” Remus said perceptively.

She shook her head. “It’s fine. I haven’t seen Harry and Ron in a while, and I’m worried about them.” It was true, she was, but her biggest concern right now was Remus in general, and the way she’d selfishly changed his life in particular.

“If you’d like, I could take a look and tell you what is actually effective? From my contacts in Greyback’s pack, I know that they’ve been used as scouts. Your concern is warranted.”

“I don’t like the idea of using you like that,” Hermione said in a low voice. It reminded her of being Iraja, of being free to love him, and she sighed and covered her face with her hands. “Maybe I’m just not ready to be a person right now. If you’d like to look at the book, please do. I need to lie down.”

She got up and practically ran from the room, her wand held to her chest overtop the place under her shirt that the crystal Remus’s younger self had given her.

  
  
  



	7. Sown Seeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione hides from Remus during the full moon and talks with Minerva about plans for the future attack. Later, Harry, Ron, and some others escape from Malfoy Manor a little worse for wear.

###  Chapter Seven: Sown Seeds

Hermione had been convinced she would end up needing to stay in her room all the time after that, but Remus and Sirius seemed to have come to an unspoken agreement about treating her carefully. They didn’t exclude her, they simply lived their lives  _ around _ her, taking care to speak to her politely but leaving her to her own devices. Given that Hermione felt fairly fragile about nearly everything and the fact that she knew Remus was one of the most perceptive people she knew, she found the arrangement unexpectedly comfortable. She got to observe their conversations at mealtimes and even got a few memorable quips in, all without feeling like they expected her to always be paying attention or be paid attention to.

She spent a good deal of time in the library as usual, but Lupin did as well. Hermione had decided to think of him as ‘Professor Lupin’ or ‘Lupin’ in her head. As the full moon approached, he magically highlighted a few paragraphs in her book every day or so, and she took dutiful notes, stuffing down her feelings of guilt. She  _ would _ find a way to get the information to Harry and Ron, she told herself, but for now, the best way she could serve the Order of the Phoenix was to keep the secret of her time travel romance from its unwitting other half.

On March 7th, she started to feign illness by yawning a good deal and falling asleep in the library every few hours. She actually cast a Drowsy Charm on herself multiple times that day, hoping that for the first few days of full moon week, she could simply stay in her room as though she were actually sick. Nannae wasn’t the kind of house elf that would tattle on her, she knew. Hermione cast the three anti-scent wards that Remus had indicated were the most effective, taking care that their reach didn’t extend any farther than the boundaries of her room at Potter Manor. She was trying to  _ reduce _ Lupin’s suspicions, after all.

Her ruse worked until March 10th.

On that day, Hermione was actually lying on her stomach on the luxurious rug in the middle of the room with her books and papers surrounding her in an arc. She’d refreshed her charms a few hours before, and there were a few hours left before lunch. She was stroking the carvings on her wand and studying the same page of text she’d been looking at for the past ten minutes when she heard the unmistakable sound of parchment paper.

“Nannae?” Hermione called out, confused. The house elf usually kept well away from Hermione’s papers, fearful even of straightening them up. Hermione could respect that-- the lines of neat handwriting and arithmantic equations looked like serious business.

She sat up and scanned the floor, looking for papers that might have drifted away from her and gotten caught against furniture to make noise. That’s when she saw it. There was a sheet of parchment the size of a Muggle notebook halfway underneath her room door! Instead of summoning it with her wand, she got up to look in case there were sounds on the other side of the door that would shed light on its appearance.

There were a few sentences’ worth of words written on it, signed. Her heart leaped a little as she leaned over and picked it up.

> **Something tells me you aren’t sick anymore, just hiding.**
> 
> **Is there anything I can do about it?**
> 
> **Remus**

She hadn’t cast a silencing charm on her room, and something told her he was outside her door waiting for a response. Simply answering him by speaking out loud seemed like cheating somehow, though. She took her wand and held it like a quill to answer him underneath his message. She and Harry had sent notes to each other like this in the past; you spelled the paper to allow temporary wand tip messages and after a set period of minutes, they disappeared without a trace.

> _ You’re right, I’m feeling better, just antisocial. _
> 
> _ You can’t help, but thank you? _
> 
> _ Hermione _

At the last minute, she’d decided not to write what she’d wanted to say, which was ‘just by asking, you’ve helped.’ That felt too encouraging, and Hermione was supposed to be keeping him at a distance. Again.

She slid the page under the door, leaving a portion of it still visible so she would know if he was actually there to take it.

He was; the page was pulled through as she watched. 

Hermione retreated to her rug, counting to ten to settle her heartbeat. She realized she needed to be ready for a behavior pattern she knew Lupin employed. Remus had pursued her at Hogwarts in his time, not taking her standoffishness as a deterrent. Hermione had been desperately lonely as Iraja, and she’d made an exception for him. She’d allowed herself to meet with him, to relax around him, thinking at the time that it would be good for him to remember he had the ability to make friends on his own. She’d talked herself into it using all the rationalizations she could think of, and the end result was that twenty years later he was probably more lonely than he’d been before she’d meddled in his life!

She told herself she was going to leave the parchment alone if he put it back. She’d check it on the way to dinner, maybe?

Lupin slid the parchment through, and Hermione practically ran over to see what it said anyway. Their previous correspondence had faded away, and just his newest message was displayed.

> **Speaking as a fellow introvert: don’t isolate yourself. If you need to keep everyone at a distance, locking yourself away isn’t the solution. It makes your housemates worry.**
> 
> **If you don’t believe me, Sirius’s option was to break down the door and carry you off to the cinema. ‘Letter under the door’ was our compromise.**

Hermione let out a little squeak on reading the part about Sirius. She whipped out her wand to respond.

> _ He might have TRIED. I can’t imagine you would have condoned such behavior, Professor. _

She shoved the page through with enough vehemence that the whole thing passed through into the hallway. Hermione thought she heard him chuckle. The interval before the parchment came back was longer than last time.

> **I would have enjoyed watching it play out, I admit.**
> 
> **Please don’t call me ‘professor,’ Hermione. It has been many years since I was your teacher, and being housemates with someone who thinks of themselves as my student would be uncomfortable for me. Harry calls me by my name, will you?**

Hermione groaned inwardly. That was  _ not _ a request she felt comfortable granting. Even in the depths of her own thoughts, his name had an association that made her think about kisses and grief. She didn’t know how much of that would show in her voice, but doubted the percentage was close enough to zero for her comfort. It was difficult enough to repress the feeling of joy when she read and re-read the part where he made clear he didn’t think of her as a student anymore.

Settling down on the floor beside the door, she started writing her response.

> _ I’ve been sitting here thinking up a compromise of my own. I think I would have to get used to using your first name. How about I could use it like this, in writing, but still call you Professor in person? I don’t consider myself your student anymore, if it helps. _

Hermione bit her lip and sent the page halfway under the door. It was snatched through almost immediately, and she tipped her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. He was clearly enjoying their correspondence enough to wait outside her door for each message. How easy it was to picture  _ her _ Remus on the other side of the wall! She resolutely did not allow herself to think of Lupin the adult as ‘her Remus.’

She’d spent enough time with her eyes shut processing her emotions that when she peeked at the door again, Lupin was shaking the page a bit to get her attention.

> **I will accept your compromise if you answer this question:**
> 
> **Have you used one of the spells you researched last week to keep me from sensing you this week?**

“Shit,” Hermione said out loud. She could picture his smirk, because he  _ had _ to have heard her. He would need some sort of explanation about what had happened, and she thought about the one she’d offered to Sirius. With her left hand clutching the pendant she always wore, Hermione set about telling him what happened in as close to the truth as she felt comfortable.

> _ Yes. _
> 
> _ I really do want to send them along to Harry and Ron, but I realized that I would just distress you with my own misery if you could sense it, and that wasn’t something I was willing to do. _
> 
> _ It’s very hard to explain what happened to me, so picture it like this: After an unexpected explosion, I was trapped in what I’ll call a bubble. It looked like real life, but it wasn’t. The only way out was to die in a particular way, as the situation deteriorated. I couldn’t get out myself. It took… a long time. Months. _
> 
> _ My sense of time was very distorted. For me, it’s been nearly ten months since I’ve seen Ron and Harry. I’m grateful that they weren’t trapped too. _
> 
> _ Remus, I hope you can understand that I am not willing to allow you to sense the effects of this. _

Hermione traced her finger across his name in her handwriting before she slid the page under her door. There was silence for a very long time. She sat next to the door and held her pendant in one hand, her other hand tracing over the carvings on her new wand. Finally, Lupin sent through the parchment.

> **Let me in.**
> 
> **You shouldn’t be alone. The spells we talked about should still work even when I’m in the same room.**

Her eyes filled with tears. Of course he would want to comfort her no matter what she said! The risks were too great, and she rushed to send back her response. Any delay might be interpreted as dithering.

> _ You are very kind, but I am going to lie down for a while now. Just thinking about all of it has made me rather exhausted. _
> 
> _ Thank you for your concern, Remus. _

After she pushed the parchment under her door, Hermione walked over to the rug, intending to start straightening the messy jumble of books and papers. Right as she picked up the first book, there was a confident knock at her door. It made her jump, and her first thought was that she must have actually upset Lupin for him to disregard her clear wish to be left alone. She stared at the door, unbraiding her hair to feel its comforting weight on her shoulders and around her face. Hermione started to count in her head, partly to settle herself and partly to time how long he would take to try again.

Approximately one hundred and thirty two seconds after his first knock, he knocked again.

Hermione marched over to the door and flung it open. “Why not stuff a Howler under the door? It would have the same effect, and I could still be alone!” she shouted at him.

Immediately she felt guilty. He looked terrible, almost as bad as he did in the past; thin, sallow, and tired.

“You aren’t taking Wolfsbane!” Hermione blurted out, astonished.

He looked down. “I can communicate better with the feral werewolves when it isn’t in my system,” he said in a quiet voice.

“You should be in bed, not sitting on the floor sending messages under my door! Shame on you, not taking care of yourself! You’re not a hypocrite, Professor,” she chided gently. In a quick spellcast, Hermione cast the personal scent-dampening spell on herself before tucking her wand away. She took his arm in hers and said, “Where is your room?”

“That spell is disturbing,” he complained. “You are like a black hole. No emotion, nothing.”

“Look at me,” Hermione said, looking up at him with her bossiest expression. “My emotions are very obvious right now. I’m angry that you’ve been neglecting someone I care about. Now, where is your room, because I’m going to stuff you in your bed and you aren’t going to argue with me.”

Lupin looked down at her with a curious expression on his face. It looked like gratitude crossed with befuddlement, with a hint of stunned curiosity. It was quite gratifying, from her end. Then his head tipped to the side, studying her, and she could feel herself blushing. She looked away and started tugging at his arm.

“There are a lot of bedrooms, Professor. If you won’t tell me which one is yours, I’ll pick one.”

He yawned, pulling on her arm where she held onto him a bit as the yawn pulled him off balance. “Turn the corner and it’s the first on the right.”

“Should I send Nannae in with food?” she asked next, heading for the end of the hallway. When he didn’t respond, she nudged him as they walked. “Professor?”

“Write it down and call me Remus,” he mumbled.

“You are dead on your feet! I’m going to tell Nannae and then you’ll never do this to yourself again out of self defense,” Hermione told him. 

“If I remind you that you actually like me too much to yell at me, will you stop?” he asked her, stopping to look down at her right before they turned the corner. She recognized this impulsive, endearing behavior from her time in the past and knew it was prompted by magical and physical exhaustion.

“If I didn’t like you, I would have cast a silencing charm on the door and let you knock all day until you collapsed in the hallway,” she told him, lifting her chin stubbornly.

He was still laughing when they got to his room door.

“Sleep, please?” she begged him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be able to stop myself,” he said, opening the door and leaning on the doorframe for a few seconds.

She reached up to touch his forehead, and he sucked in a surprised breath. He was too warm, but she remembered this part from the past, too. There wasn’t anything that would lower his temperature but the actual transformation or regular doses of Wolfsbane taken on schedule. She was profoundly grateful for the scent-dampening spell after touching his face, and she focused her eyes on the middle of his shirt, where one of his buttons was cracked in half but still valiantly holding onto its buttonhole.

“Is it that you can’t  _ afford _ the Wolfsbane, or you genuinely find it necessary for werewolf/human relations?” she asked him quietly.

“I only accept tough questions in written form, Miss Granger,” Remus said. Then, he pushed off from the wall and nodded respectfully before shutting the door in her face.

That was the moment when Hermione remembered it was his birthday. In a quick move, she conjured up a new sheet of parchment and wrote a final message on it with her wand to slip under his door.

> _ I hope you find this after a long nap, but: _
> 
> _ Are you avoiding Wolfsbane because of the cost or because of your work with the feral werewolves? I ask because Sirius implied that you act more like a spy handler than a field agent. _
> 
> _ Also: Happy Birthday, Remus. _
> 
> _ If I find you a source of Wolfsbane, will you take it? It would be my birthday present, as I haven’t another one. _

oOoOoOo

Hermione wrote a series of letters regarding Wolfsbane supplies that night, addressing one to Horace Slughorn at Hogwarts and two others to apothecaries requesting their prices. She was confident enough in her brewing skill, but less so in her ability to acquire the necessary ingredients. Her walk with Lupin had showed her the anti-scent spell was strong enough to have short-term exposure without incident, so she started to have meals with the household again while spending the rest of the days in her room.

Her long-awaited meeting with McGonagall happened on the day of the full moon, the 12th. The first half was about the Null Magic spell. If Professor McGonagall hadn’t been one of her favorite professors before, she would be now. The documentation of McGonagall’s research, experiments, and observations were impeccable and perfectly understandable. By the time they’d spoken about it for an hour, Hermione understood the advances in the theory that her professor had made, the sacrifices that would be required in order to cast it, and the damage it was expected to do.

The spell was devastating as designed. Hermione had conceived the spell as a kind of ‘antimatter bomb’ but ‘anti-magic’ instead. However, the implementation was more along the lines of nullification rather than the science fiction things she’d been picturing. When used, the caster spent all their magical potential to nullify the magic of everyone around them, using the caster’s sacrifice as a catalyst to rip the magical potential of their targets away with devastating results. 

Hermione had done solid research in the past with smaller spells, including the Entrail-Expelling Curse, studying the commonalities in the wand movements as well as the rare but powerful effect that intent had on all truly terrible spells like the Unforgivables. Professor McGonagall’s additions had been about efficiently gathering up one’s magical potential, as well as digging deep into the ramifications of the caster’s death during casting. She had found that death would be necessary for the magical potential to detonate instead of being sucked back into the caster.

By the time they were done speaking about it, Hermione felt confident that she would be able to cast the spell with a small amount of further study. She did not tell her professor this, of course.

“Hermione, can you tell me more about the source of, of  _ immortality _ that you mentioned Albus telling Harry?” McGonagall said, the disbelief in her voice evident. “I have been doing research ever since I last spoke to you, and I can’t find anything. Not even at Hogwarts’ library!”

“It’s obscure. So much so that even mentioning the spell would warn him,” Hermione said. “I can tell you about what it does, I can tell you where we were looking, but Professor, I believe Professor Dumbledore didn’t tell the Order about this to keep it very close and secret.”

Professor McGonagall reached out to squeeze her hand. They were both sitting on the small couch in Hermione’s room, and the silencing spells they’d both used to keep their conversation private meant that Hermione didn’t even hear the sound of the fabric when McGonagall moved.

“He would be so proud to see you being careful with the information he shared with Harry,” McGonagall said in a quiet voice.

“Thank you. It was one of the worst things I had to do in the past, to keep that secret. Not that it would have helped much, honestly-- the spell breaks pieces of a person’s soul away, with a death, a  _ murder _ as the catalyst. He’s hidden those pieces in artifacts he put value to, like his old diary and a few treasures from the Founders of Hogwarts,” Hermione said. “We’ve destroyed the diary, a locket that belonged to Salazar Slytherin, and Professor Dumbledore destroyed a ring. We think there are at least two more hidden in Founder relics. One of them, a diadem that belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, has been missing for a very long time, and Harry is certain it’s at Hogwarts.”

“I can look for it,” McGonagall interrupted.

“That would help a lot, but please be careful,” Hermione said, placing her free hand on top of where her professor’s hand was still holding hers. “The pieces of his soul are vile. They…  _ defend themselves _ against you by warping your thoughts if you’re in touch contact. I don’t know how much they influence others to come and rescue them when they’re not actually being touched, though. That was our constant concern-- do we wear the locket in turns, and deal with the hatefulness and division, or do we lock it away and risk it figuring out a way to disappear.” Hermione shuddered.

“I’ll investigate a way to keep it hidden and safe at the same time as trying to find it.” Pulling her hand back from Hermione, McGonagall jotted down a note to herself in the notebook on a chain she always wore. “How do we destroy them?  _ Do _ we destroy them?”

Hermione explained to McGonagall about the few ways they knew to destroy Horcruxes, and they talked briefly about other artifacts that might be candidates. There was a lot of scribbling in McGonagall’s notebook by the time they were done.

After shrinking her notebook and putting it in her pocket, Professor McGonagall made a face. “I need to leave. Before I go, there is one thing I meant to ask about your spell. Who did you intend to wield it?”

Hermione looked down at her hands in her lap. “I hadn’t thought that far, back then. Since I had expected to die once already, I considered casting it myself--” she said in a cautious voice.

“I would prefer not to ask someone at student age to bear that kind of burden,” McGonagall interrupted. “I would be willing to cast it, though there is another candidate.” She seemed to hesitate, and Hermione looked up. “An elderly Arithmancer has recently joined the Order, and she rather outrageously offered herself for any dangerous mission that might be necessary.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” Hermione remarked with deliberate sarcasm.

“Just so,” McGonagall replied, her lips pinching in disapproval. “I do trust her, but I wanted to pass that along. Her work is above reproach, and I don’t mean to imply that she might be a security risk,” she added. “I teased her that it might be her destiny, anyway. Her name is Febronia Ermengild.”

“Oh, that’s got a Latin base,” Hermione said, interested. “Purify?”

“It can mean sacrifice, in certain contexts,” McGonagall said, standing up. 

“British wizards do love their Latin names, along with the constellations and gods,” Hermione said, standing up and lifting her eyebrows at her professor.

“I am off. Do you have any letters that need Owling?”

“Yes! Three,” Hermione said, rushing over to collect them. When she’d handed them over, McGonagall tisked.

“Are you well enough to start brewing?” she asked Hermione bluntly.

“How did you--”

“One letter to the Potions Master at Hogwarts, and two more to apothecaries? Don’t call me daft, child!” She swept over to the door and paused to stare down at Hermione with a forbidding expression. “Take care of yourself. No blowing up sections of Order headquarters from spell exhaustion-related improper brewing.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione replied dutifully.

“Hmm,” McGonagall said before she left.

oOoOoOo

Life at Potter Manor settled down to an easy routine after the full moon. Hermione mostly did research into lost artifacts that might be things Voldemort would be interested in turning into Horcruxes. That was one thing that she’d dearly wished she could do while on the run. Lupin sat in the library with her at times, sometimes reading, other times doing research of his own.

The Easter holidays meant that Ginny came home to the Burrow, and Hermione looked forward to visiting her while she was there. A day or so later, though, all hell broke loose.

Just after dawn, Bill Weasley Apparated in, frantically knocking on bedroom doors until he found Hermione’s, and she went to wake Lupin. While Lupin went to find Sirius in his bathrobe and then got dressed, Bill filled Hermione in on the reason he had shown up so upset.

Harry and Ron had been captured by Snatchers after Harry had accidentally spoken their adversary’s name. They’d been taken to Lucius Malfoy’s mansion, where Harry had found other captives Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, Griphook the goblin, and Olivander the wandmaker. Ron had been tortured by Bellatrix, and the group of them had been improbably rescued by Dobby the elf, who had been killed in the course of their escape. 

When they’d made it to Shell Cottage, Bill and Fleur’s remote house on the coast, Ron had been in bad shape. His entire back was soaked with blood, Bill said, thanks to Bellatrix carving letters into his back with some cursed knife that wouldn’t let the wounds heal. The words ‘BLOOD TRAITOR’ would be permanently etched into his back if nothing could be done about it. Bill had come to collect Lupin and let Hermione know about her best friends’ ordeal. He had been hoping that she would be able to contact more Order members, but it turned out that Lupin was the point man for much of the Order.

Not long after telling them about all of this, Lupin and Bill left to go back to Shell Cottage, promising they’d keep Sirius and Hermione posted on any news.

The second they were gone, Hermione collapsed into a heap on the floor in the hallway, crying.

It was  _ her fault. _

Bellatrix was known for using  _ Crucio _ to torture her victims, but without a voice, she’d been forced to get creative, hadn’t she? Ron was suffering because Hermione had tried to change history with no thought to the possible consequences!

“Hermione,  _ Hermione!” _ Sirius had knelt beside her to try to get her attention, but she was too far gone for that. 

“My fault,” she groaned.

“You can’t say that, sweetheart. If you were there it could have been you instead! You can’t borrow trouble,” Sirius said, scooting over to sit in a position where she could cry on his chest.

Hermione felt like she couldn’t breathe. She reached into her shirt and pulled out her pendant, clutching it in her left hand. The teardrop shape fit right into her palm with her hand closed around it. Her routine was to cast a temporary cooling charm on it, and she’d hold it close in her palm until it had warmed up to her body heat. She’d only ever had to refresh the charm once.

Fumbling for her wand, Hermione tried to calm herself enough to speak the spell. Her thoughts were all self-recrimination, though. Ron was in pain, in agony, bleeding, because of her. Because she’d taken it upon herself to silence Bellatrix. 

“You aren’t going to hex  _ me, _ are you?” Sirius asked, and Hermione closed her hand more tightly around her crystal. Now was probably the worst time to reveal to anyone what she’d done, the  _ real _ reason she had been ill.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Hermione said. Only the first one was for Sirius. She chanted the words in her head and Sirius rested his hand on her back as he stood, keeping it there as he stood up. 

“Come on. To the library with you,” he said, lifting her into his arms.

“I’m still in my pajamas!” she protested.

“That’s right. You’ll have to fret about that instead, or calm yourself down enough to make your own way up to your room to get dressed, won’t you?” Sirius said in a smug voice.

Hermione was speechless for the entire walk down to the library. When Sirius set her down on the couch, she put both hands on her hips and said, “Only you would figure out a way to calm down a person by trapping them in a room in their pajamas!”

He leaned against the doorway, relaxed and insolent. “Not trapped, love. You’re free to change whenever you feel like it.”

The distraction only lasted so long-- Sirius had no idea the depths of her trauma --and soon, Hermione was wishing she could send him away so she could follow her tried and true rituals and regain control over herself. 

She’d read a book about mountain climbing once, in the summer after the Tri-Wizard Tournament, when she went through a bit of a crisis about feeling more at home in the wizarding world than the Muggle one and wanted to read about Muggle achievements in things wizards wouldn’t ever bother with. The second highest mountain in the world, K2, was so remote that when you went to go climb it, you didn’t see its peak on the horizon until you were a month into the journey. You always knew it was there, but you hadn’t earned the sight until you’d fought to get anywhere near it. Hermione felt like that now, in the library. Her misery was waiting, and it was as daunting as the Savage Mountain. It was obscured by other struggles for now, the smallest of which was her need to evict Sirius Black from the room so she could hold a gift from the man she loved in the palm of her hand and relearn how to breathe.

Then, Hermione looked at the wand in her hand, and down at her clothing.

_ “There _ it is!” Sirius said.

“Honestly,” Hermione groaned. “I cannot believe I forgot.” She transfigured her pajamas into a blouse and some jeans, and included a little twist in the spellcasting that changed Remus’s blue teardrop crystal into a heart the same color as her shirt. She didn’t want to use magic on it at all, but Sirius had recognized the crystal when he’d Side-Along Apparated her to the Malfoy wedding. He’d commented that Remus had owned it for at least a year before gifting it to Iraja. Hermione wouldn’t put it past him to recognize it still. The spell would wear off in a few hours.

“Harry is the same way. It’s as if Muggle-raised witches and wizards see magic as only for necessities, things they can’t easily do themselves,” Sirius said.

Hermione nodded at him, but her eyes were filling up with tears again. Muggleborn, that’s what she was. Or, to Bellatrix Lestrange, a  _ Mudblood. _ The woman hated those far worse than ‘blood traitors’ as she had termed the Weasleys.

“And why does she see the Weasleys as blood traitors? Because of associating with people like  _ me,” _ Hermione muttered to herself. “However you look at it, it’s my fault!” This she said louder, covering her face with both hands and crying again. Remus’s pendant didn’t fit in her hand properly now, and she didn't want to draw attention to it.

She felt Sirius sit beside her. He leaned back on the couch and set his arm along the back of it, near her, but not touching her. It was an unspoken offer of comfort, and Hermione appreciated him even more in that moment. Here was the tangible evidence of what  _ good _ she had done by choosing to attack Bellatrix.

“I couldn’t help but hear you, lurking as I was in the doorway,” Sirius said quietly, the humor in his voice as restrained as it could be under the circumstances. “Tell me why you feel responsible?”

“Bill said Bellatrix carved the words ‘blood traitor’ across Ron’s back,” Hermione said. An added misery was that Hermione could visualize exactly what it probably looked like after having spent months in a tent with Ron and Harry. “That woman hates Muggleborns more than blood traitors, not that being a blood traitor is even a  _ thing,” _ Hermione scoffed. “Even if you could argue it wouldn’t have been me with ‘mudblood’ carved somewhere, what makes her even call Ron a blood traitor? Associations with Muggleborns?”

Sirius let out a slow breath, wincing. “I don’t know that I agree, but I can follow your logic. Maybe that comes from years of wrestling with what ifs of my own, about James and Lily.”

“If that knife is cursed with what I think it is, Ron will be scarred for life.  _ Scarred for life,” _ Hermione repeated in a sad whisper. “No amount of burying myself in books will make that easier to deal with.” Picturing Ron serving a sentence of pain for the rest of his life made Hermione remember one other aspect of their ordeal at Malfoy Manor. “Oh, no, Sirius!” she gasped. “With Peter gone, how will you prove your innocence?”

Sirius’s expression turned nonchalant, and he shrugged. Even without the benefit of the two years and some months she’d lived without him, Hermione knew him well enough to recognize that he was being flippant because he was upset and didn’t want to show it. 

“We’ll think of something, I know we will,” she promised him.

“What if I organized everyone to come here for group baked goods therapy?” Sirius asked, sitting up. “Half a roomful of Weasleys, whoever of the Order we can scrounge up, professors playing hooky from the most miserable year of Hogwarts ever?” He tugged her hand away from where she’d wrapped it around Remus’s disguised crystal and held it with both of his. “I know this sounds frivolous but it might be just the thing. All the people who love and trust Ron and Harry taking a night to raise a glass?”

In a moment of clarity Hermione realized that Sirius was trying to do the only thing he  _ could _ do, under his limited abilities-- provide Potter Manor as a safe place for the Order to rally together. 

“Don’t get it catered by Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and you’ll get a yes from me,” Hermione said. “Good luck with Professor Lupin, though--”

Sirius let go of her hand and started laughing.

“What?”

“You’re still calling him that! Oh, he must be chewing through his pillow at night in frustration! He almost moved out when Minerva brought you in. Was convinced you’d make him feel like a dirty old man if you called him ‘professor’ as an 18 year old pretty witch! Oh--” Sirius cut himself off with a guilty look. “He’s not, I mean, that I know of, he’s not--” He held up a finger, took a deep breath, and said,  _ “I _ was the one who called you pretty.”

“If you’re making a hash of saying he doesn’t think of me improperly, I know,” Hermione said in a carefully neutral tone. 

“Shit, thank goodness. He has enough on his plate right now. He’d probably hex me bald if he knew I even said that-- he doesn’t want to pressure you to feel comfortable here,” Sirius said, rubbing a hand over his face in obvious relief. 

“Does he think of  _ anyone _ improperly?” Hermione asked, emotional and curious and out of the strength to restrain herself.

Sirius stared at her for a beat longer than was comfortable before responding. “My cousin Tonks was acting interested about two years ago, but she and Charlie Weasley seem to be getting along famously, and Moony doesn’t seem to mind. No one that I know of, is your answer.”

“He’s too kind to be alone,” Hermione whispered, miserable. 

“What does that make  _ me _ if-- Wait. You’re just trying to get me to go away,” Sirius said, the affronted tone he’d started speaking with fading into suspicion.

“You’re too stubborn for that to work,” Hermione said in a comforting voice, patting at his shoulder. She finally felt she could handle the walk back to her room. If she planned to collapse onto her bed and cry all day after she got there, that was her prerogative.


	8. Germination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred and George Weasley's insistence on bringing some test products to the Order party complicates things for Hermione and Remus. Hermione realizes that she doesn't see herself as a student any longer, but as a colleague.

###  **Chapter Eight: Germination**

Hermione woke a few hours before dawn and lay in her bed thinking. She felt like she’d come to a crossroads; from this point she could either continue to open up and feel more comfortable being herself again, or she could fake it and continue planning for the Null Magic spell. What made the decision difficult was that being Hermione Granger meant letting go of all Iraja Perdita, even the good parts. It meant carefully cauterizing the empty places in her heart, turning her back on her feelings for Remus, and erasing the things that made saying his name special. 

She really didn’t want to do that.

Every time she thought about taking off the crystal pendant and putting it away forever, her heart ached like it was in physical pain. She asked herself if living her life without him and seeing him periodically while feeling that ache be simply a longer, more drawn out sort of dying? And if it would be, why shouldn’t she make the same choice she’d made back in the past? 

Hermione didn’t want to wither away, and neither did she want to cut out the infection. She wanted to stand and fight. This version of Hermione  _ could _ love Remus Lupin. She could love him so much she would sacrifice herself to make the world safe for him and everyone else she loved, ending the long, drawn out suffering of being without him. 

He could be ‘Remus’ to her again until she was gone.

oOoOoOo

Remus was back for breakfast.

“You look terrible,” Hermione said as she settled into her chair across from him. 

“That’s what I said,” Sirius told her. His guffaws of laughter made her lips curl up in an unwilling smile despite how it might make Remus feel.

“It was worth it. I got the bleeding to stop,” Remus announced. He smiled weakly in response to their happy reactions, but held up a hand. “He’ll need to use special treatments to keep the wounds clean of infection, but the acute danger is over.”

“Whatever would we do without you?” Hermione said, her voice as affectionate as she dared. To her surprise, Remus seemed to be deeply affected by her words.

“Thank you. I-- I needed to hear that, it seems,” he said, rubbing a finger under one eye. She recognized the gesture as one she’d used in the past to hide tears. “I have been feeling practically useless, lately. The werewolves I’ve been in contact with seem like they’re humoring me just to keep me on the hook and away from anything that might be  _ helpful.” _

“Stop going,” Sirius said bluntly. “Dumbledore’s dead, and he was daft to send you anyway. You’re basically sacrificing your peace of mind for the sake of a memory!”

“I have had plenty of practice doing that,” Remus muttered.

“If you stopped going, you might find out where their true loyalties lie,” Hermione pointed out. “If they’re on our side, they’d be concerned and might reach out, don’t you think?”

Remus put down his fork. “That’s a very good point.”

“What about my point?” Sirius said.

“It’s also worth considering,” Remus allowed.

“Good, because I’ve called a meeting. A de-stress meeting, here at the manor. Your attendance is required,” Sirius said. His body language said he was preparing for a fight, but to Hermione’s surprise, Remus just nodded.

“That would be good for everyone. Too often something happens and the message gets garbled as it disseminates. Having everyone see how strong Ron is being, how confident Harry still is, that will help everyone’s morale, including mine,” Remus said, murmuring the last bit as he looked down at his plate.

“You mean like after Marlene?” Sirius asked.

Hermione recognized the name as an Order member who was killed during the first war with Voldemort. With her hair down and partially covering her face, she watched Remus’s reaction, trying not to look like she was staring. He nodded and looked sad, and the way he and Sirius seemed to be communicating without words made her wish she could do something to ease the pain both of them had suffered over the past decade or more.

_ Winning will help, _ she told herself.  _ And this time, he won’t be mourning someone he’s in love with. That’s progress, maybe? _

Before leaving the table, Hermione handed Remus the letter she’d written for McGonagall. The Order had a complicated net of communication, meant to illustrate any breakdown in information that would reveal the kind of traitor that Peter had become the first time around. All Hogwarts messages were relayed through Remus, which meant Hermione’s letter would need his help to deliver. She knew that even if he read it, he wouldn’t understand, but it still made her nervous to hand it over.

> _ Dear Professor, _
> 
> _ I’ll cast it. I’m prepared for the consequences, perhaps more so than anyone else in the Order. _
> 
> _ Hermione _

oOoOoOo

Quite a few Order members made it to Sirius’s party. Sirius had gotten messages from McGonagall and Shacklebolt begging off, citing the concern that too many prominent friends of Albus Dumbledore taking a night off would trigger suspicion in people like Dolores Umbridge. Every Weasley but Percy came, and even though they weren’t bringing food, Fred and George did bring some of the products they’d been testing for their joke shop, much to Hermione’s dismay.

She’d been prepared to chastise them for taking advantage of the party as a way to push their investments, but then Hermione saw the way Luna, Dean, and Ginny were having so much fun.

Hermione went to find George after that.

“Thank you for showing me I was wrong,” she said to him, going up on her tiptoes to kiss his shoulder affectionately. “I was being a curmudgeon.”

“A lot of people forget how important feeling happy is,” George said. “It’s not just frivolous.”

“That’s an important lesson, and I’m grateful to you and Fred for teaching it to me,” she said, smiling up at him.

Harry, Ron, Arthur, and Bill were the last ones to arrive. Hermione didn’t restrain herself from running over to them when they walked in.

“Hermione!” Harry’s hug lasted so long that halfway through it, she felt Ron’s taller body press against the two of them and his arms came around them both.

“I missed you both like mad!” she told them. “I have  _ so much _ to tell you, and no idea how to even start. We’ll have to meet up tomorrow or something, everyone will want you!”

That was true; Hermione didn’t get a chance to do much more than smile across the room at her two best friends for most of the evening. She felt so much enjoyment simply observing everyone after having to mourn the idea of ever even _seeing_ them again that she retreated into an alcove in the large living room space they were all congregated in. She sat in the window seat, appreciating the simple luxury of a house warded against not only intruders but also the cold, with windows that didn’t let any of the weather affect their temperature. When a few Order members started to leave, Hermione felt the weight of her hostess duties and tried to go over to say goodbye, but found she couldn’t walk away from her position in front of the window seat.

The room had three such alcoves, and Hermione was in the center one. She could see the room, but since the windows were a step down from the main room, most of the guests were congregated beyond that step. She pulled out her wand and simply searched around herself with  _ Lumos _ at first, but when she didn’t see any particular reason for her to be stuck in place (she could lift her feet off of the floor, but an unknown force kept her from moving her body weight away from the window seat), Hermione cast a Disillusionment charm on herself and sat back down.

Sirius and Remus were intelligent, competent wizards. They could help her once the get-together had adjourned, and in the meantime, Hermione had no intention of letting any concern for her derail the relaxed and easy way everyone was behaving around each other. Every so often she did small things to test the limitations of the imprisonment charm and found no useful results to explain why she was stuck.

Hermione watched her friends and colleagues bid their goodbyes to each other and watched Harry and Ron perform a simple search for her and end up shrugging. The consensus seemed to be that she was overwhelmed and had snuck off to bed, which didn’t seem to upset anyone. It seemed to be what Sirius had actually done, unless he was trapped similarly in one of the other alcoves.

Soon, only Remus was left with Hermione in the living room, and she watched him tidy up with a contented smile on his face. She snuck her now-restored crystal out of her shirt and held it in her palm next to her heart, smiling fondly. There were so many things she recognized in him from his youthful version-- the way his hair curled over his ears when he needed a haircut, the intent way he would look at someone when he spoke with them, the way he stood as if he thought he was too tall, his shoulders slightly hunched over, hands in his pockets. The added things about adult Remus were lovable to her too; his facial hair, the way his shoulders had filled out, and the lines around his face that might have initially been carved there by worry but which made his smiles all the more impactful by emphasizing the way his eyes lit up when he was happy.

“I am honestly  _ pathetic,”  _ Hermione mumbled to herself. She was enjoying watching Remus so much that she forgot that she needed his help until he was finished with the tidying and walked over, seemingly wishing to look out her window. She had a moment of panic. Should she cancel her Disillusionment charm and risk startling him before he stepped on her?

She’d underestimated him, however.

“You can turn the spell off now, Hermione,” Remus said, stopping a few feet in front of her.

Hermione stared at him for a few seconds before pulling out her wand to do what he had asked.

“I wasn’t  _ hiding, _ not really,” she said, hating the defensiveness in her voice. Remus just stood there with a gentle smile on his face.

“I didn’t think you were. I assumed you simply wanted to watch everyone,” he told her.

“I did, that’s why I sat down at first. Then Molly went to leave with Ginny and I wanted to say goodbye, and--” Hermione broke off and stood, showing Remus that she could lift her foot to take a step, but not actually extend her weight past whatever invisible barrier was keeping her where she was. “I don’t know what it is, but I’m stuck. I didn’t want to cause alarm, so I waited to say anything until it was just us. I figured you or Sirius could help me without making a fuss about it.”

“That’s thoughtful, not that I’m surprised,” Remus said. She couldn’t help but glow a bit at the compliment. “May I?” he asked solicitously, nodding toward her. She nodded.

Remus lit his wand tip and stepped quite close to search around her for the source of magic. He smelled the same as he had in the past, but now there was something else, something much more masculine. Remus bumped into her with his arm as he leaned all the way over toward the window, and she let herself breathe him in. It was a good thing the full moon was still two weeks away in either direction, because Hermione knew the way she felt right now was probably broadcasting in screaming neon.

“I can’t see anything,” Remus said. “This might feel a bit odd,” he told her, resting a light hand on her shoulder as he cast a diagnostic spell. The spell surrounded any object or aura that was exerting influence on a person with a red glow, and shortly after he cast it, Remus made a triumphant sort of grunt noise. “There’s our culprit!”

“Oh, you found something?” she asked. He nodded, and knelt at her feet, eyes intent on whatever it was.

“Lift your left leg, please?”

When she did, she saw the red glow. It was surrounding a small sprig of green formed into a sphere. After staring at it for a few seconds, Hermione realized what it was and sat down in surprise. That put her almost at the same level as Remus, who stood up immediately.

“Mistletoe?  _ How?!” _ she asked, completely confused.

Remus ran a hand through his hair. “I heard Molly talking about this earlier tonight. The twins are product testing in advance of the holidays.”

“Ten  _ months _ in advance?!” Hermione couldn’t help but point out. Remus made a face but continued.

“She’s had to visit the Ministry three times in the past two weeks thanks to one of them getting loose and traveling with Arthur to work,” he said. He shook his head as he looked down at Hermione, looking rueful. “They’re seasonal, but that particular restriction was turned off for testing. I suppose it’s possible that this one got stuck to one of them and rolled away out of sight over the course of the evening, but--”

“But with Fred and George, you think zebras, not horses?” Hermione said, frowning.

Remus chuckled. “Exactly. Excuse me a moment?” She nodded, and watched as he walked to each alcove and cast his detection spell, before doing the same at all the corners of the room. Finally, he cast a  _ Totallum _ version of the spell, nodding in satisfaction when it apparently gave the result he seemed to expect, before he walked back over to Hermione.

“There are two more, one in each alcove.”

“I am going to hex them both to look like Draco Malfoy for a  _ year!” _ Hermione hissed.

Remus laughed, but he made a face. “That’s a bit harsh.”

“No, Professor, I don’t think it is. For booby-trapping my house, I think it’s the bare minimum!” she snapped. “It’s in a really obscure part of the house; they could have been here for months before any of us found one.”

“Come to think of it, I saw them try to lead Luna and Dean over to the window to show them something,” Remus interrupted, looking over to the alcove to Hermione’s left. Then, he turned to frown at her. “I thought you were going to stop calling me professor?”

“I was, but in my defense, this is a very professorial context, finding possibly dark magic left in our house by dark ginger wizards who need to be hexed!” she protested. “Please say we can bring them back here so I can hex them?”

“Tonight is Ron’s first night home at the Burrow since he was injured. I’m loathe to interrupt the Weasleys for something like this,” Remus said quietly. 

Hermione sighed. “I agree.”

“Sirius is out cold after drinking too much Firewhiskey with Charlie and Tonks in the kitchen,” Remus said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Is  _ that _ where he ended up? That makes the strangest sort of sense,” Hermione said, laughing a bit. She was cheered up by the fact that Remus didn’t sound jealous at all until she figured out the reason why he’d mentioned Sirius in the first place. She suddenly felt diminished by their height difference, so she stood up and crossed her arms.

“Wait, why would we need Sirius?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Remus looked uncomfortable. “Well, I assumed you’d be more likely to-- That is, Sirius is usually the wizard that most--”

“Sirius gets the girls, Remus gets the books, that kind of thing?” Hermione suggested, trying to keep her voice from sounding judgmental.

“Basically,” he smiled thinly.

“And your assessment of this situation is that I, Hermione Granger, would be more interested in… not books?”

Remus blinked at her for a second or two, and then walked off out of sight, muttering about charm activation and breaking the activity chain of events, something she remembered from Charms class as having to do with creating activation criterion for turning on charm states. She’d clearly made Remus uncomfortable, and the longer he stood examining the inactive mistletoe, the longer she felt like she ought to try to give him an out.

“This seat isn’t that bad,” she called out, settling back down on the window seat. “I’m happy to wait until Sirius wakes up, if that makes you feel better. I mean, I’ve never been  _ his _ student.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Remus walked back over in front of her. “I wasn’t trying to re-create that dynamic, Hermione,” he said, tipping his head to the side to study her as if confused. “I was just trying to give you a choice. You’re perceptive enough to know that.”

Her face reddened. Hermione hated the feeling of disappointing him, especially since she was doing it willfully. 

She stood up and twisted her hands together in front of her, closing her eyes so he didn’t see her obvious feelings for him showing through them. “I’m sorry, I really am trying. It’s just that I--”

In the next moment, she felt his hand on her chin, lifting her head up. Then, he kissed her. The action was clearly meant as a quick gesture except for the way he froze for a few seconds, long enough for her to grab his hand where he was touching her. His lips were firm but not insistent, and she didn’t,  _ couldn’t _ pull away. He didn’t move for a long few seconds that felt bittersweet and glorious. Everywhere they touched felt intensely good, just exactly like that night at the Astronomy Tower. She’d been mourning his touch and then suddenly there he was touching her; the unexpected emotional connection was almost as overwhelming to her as the physical sensations.

Hermione was certain he’d look at her with knowing betrayal or even guilt when he did pull back, but he just looked surprised, even stunned. He showed no hint that he knew it was Iraja he’d kissed. His expression simply showed a confused sort of curiosity. He looked as affected by the kiss as she imagined she did-- his eyes were dilated and he was breathing more heavily than usual, more than a simple kiss like that should prompt.

She wondered for a fleeting few seconds if his wolf self knew who she really was, but dismissed the thought immediately.

“I thought that would be faster than arguing,” Remus whispered. She was still holding onto his hand, even though he’d moved it away from her face, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Thank you,” she said. Her voice was low, and something in the back of her mind screamed danger. Finally, she pulled away, blushing. With the same hand, she pulled out her wand and started for the next alcove over.

Faster than he would have been able to if he weren’t a werewolf, Remus threw out his arm to stop her. “Not too close, remember.” Hermione nodded. She wanted to pull that arm around herself and remember what it was like to have him want to touch her in an uncomplicated, loving way.

There was no way she could let him see the truth of what she really wanted reflected in her eyes, so she decided to look busy, instead. Hermione conjured a piece of parchment and picked up one of the quills at a desk in the far corner of the living room. After dipping it expertly in the inkpot nearby, she started scratching down a list of options to handle their problem.

“All right, should we try any stasis charms? Spell nullification charms? What are the chances that the twins have added anti-tamper-- well shit, who are we kidding, they definitely have,” Hermione said, sticking her quill into her hair, ink residue and all. She threw her hands up in frustration, dropping the parchment back down on the nearest flat surface.

“Yes, as one of a group of former pranksters, I must say that Fred and George are impressively thorough in their craftsmanship,” Remus said, crouching down to examine the left-most sprig of mistletoe.

“Do you know, I think this is what they wanted?” Hermione said, coming over to him. “Maybe they initially brought the mistletoe to sow havoc, but by hiding them like this, it’s not about tricking people to kiss anymore.”

“So your theory is: the mischief is the puzzle itself? The time we’ll spend on it?” Remus asked, standing back up.

“Exactly. Which is why we should thwart them in the most frustrating way possible. They’re expecting us to give them back, or express our disappointment in their childish actions, don’t you think? Otherwise they wouldn’t have left  _ three _ of them,” Hermione said, pointing to how far apart each alcove was from each other. “They expect we’ll either find them organically by getting trapped and rescued, or by searching for them and then being forced to deal with getting them out of the house.”

Remus looked over his shoulder at the mistletoe sprig less than two feet away. He put his hands in his pockets and, with the edges of his lips curling up in amusement, he asked, “I agree with your analysis. What is your plan?”

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out. Then she said, “Simple: set them off and never say a word.”

Then, she shoved him backwards, hard.

Hermione knew that Remus had good reflexes. There wasn’t a chance he would actually be hurt by her sudden push, but she figured there was hardly any chance that he wouldn’t activate the mistletoe, and she was right. He caught himself in a half-kneeling position, both hands on the window seat, and stood up to look at her in stunned silence. After a few seconds of looking at each other, he nodded to her in mute respect, and she felt like she could breathe again.

The problem now was gathering up enough courage to walk over and kiss him. Hermione bit her lip, looking at the floor. She counted to ten in her head, trying to calm her nerves. The actiony bits were usually where Ron or Harry came in, but this scheme was all hers.

“This a great plan. It’s just suffering a little in the implementation,” Remus told her, sliding his hands in his pockets in a show of waiting for her.

“It’s just that I’m nowhere near confident enough to pull this off the way I pictured,” she said in a quiet voice.

“I’m not sure you know how charming that is,” he murmured. She didn’t think he knew she’d even heard him, because he spoke again, louder. “You have a quill tangled in your hair. Come closer, I’ll pull it loose?”

“That is  _ such _ a line,” she said, amused.

“It would only work on witches who had a habit of sticking their quills in various improbable places,” he said, “So it was a genuine question, given how few witches like that I happen to know.” She looked up at him, and the fleeting look of sadness on his face tore her heart open, because she had put it there. “I can close my eyes, if that makes you feel less scrutinized?” Remus suggested. “That might make it easier to pretend you’re--”

Her outrage soared. Hermione power walked up to him and pointed her finger at his face. “Don’t you dare do that!” she said passionately. “I don’t have to pretend, I don’t  _ want _ to pretend, and you shouldn’t be so quick to assume that you are somehow inferior!”

“I’m not a house elf, Hermione. I’m a werewolf,” Remus said sadly. He was cloaking himself in the armor of being a dangerous creature instead of listening to her, and she hated that instinct in him.

“You’re a man,” she said. “A stubborn, lovely man.” Angrily, Hermione grabbed two handfuls of his collar and pulled him down so she could kiss him. He’d opened his mouth to argue with her again, and that made the kiss more intimate than the closed-lip, intense press of lips of earlier. Remus drew one hand out of his pocket to grab her upper arm, and his grip tightened when she angled her head a bit, adjusting her lips on his, a clear escalation. 

Her anger hadn’t dissipated despite the mix of familiar and unfamiliar that was the experience of kissing him. He started to straighten back up, and to make her point, she lifted herself on her tiptoes to chase his mouth, one hand slipping up from his collar into his hair. The tiny noise he made at the back of his throat in reaction to this combination of movements from her felt like victory, and she dropped down onto her feet and let go of him.

Despite the fact that he had been essentially trapped in the alcove up against the window seat, Remus still managed to step back away from her, which re-lit her desire-fueled fury. He wasn’t allowed to fully pull away from her, and if she had to use his personality, his  _ Remus-ness _ against him to stop that, she would. Without a word, she walked straight over to the third alcove.

With her arms crossed in front of her, Hermione waited for Remus to follow her. When he came to stand next to her, he didn’t look defensive or angry in response to her emotional outburst. Instead, he looked hurt.

“Why are you so angry with me?” he asked. The question was quiet and resigned, and Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. She’d done him a disservice in criticizing his self-worth. He only had the evidence he’d been presented with over the course of his life to go on. Being a school full of students’ favorite professor wasn’t enough. Being respected by a group of powerful witches and wizards only went so far, when those same witches and wizards didn’t take the time to help you when you needed them the most.

The unfairness of that hit Hermione hard, and she felt simultaneous guilt and outrage.

“It would be more accurate to say that I’m angry with everyone who left you alone to fend for yourself after you lost so much, all those years ago,” she said, turning her head away from where she knew he was standing, even with her eyes shut. “I concluded that their behavior left you with a flawed viewpoint of your self worth, which made me even  _ more _ angry. Then I took that anger out on you, which was unfair.” She opened her eyes and saw that his expression was guarded, wary. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head at her, clearly baffled.

She held up a finger and looked up at the curved hood of the alcove, gathering her thoughts. It was becoming clear to her that something had happened to her throughout that evening, even before their guests had left, and this conversation was the culmination of it. It was rare to come to such a profound shift in perspective in so short a time, but she could see the whole thought process laid out in front of her. If only she could pick up the thoughts and lay them down neatly on a piece of parchment so she could read them!

Hermione opened her eyes and saw that Remus was patiently waiting. That was something Harry and Ron never did-- something most adults never did. Would they do it now that she was one of them? She’d probably have to wait until they recognized the change in her. It would take longer than one evening, that was certain.

She dug in her hair to pull out the quill. It helped to have it in her hand when she was explaining things, sometimes.

“Before I try to explain, when did you and your friends feel… grown up?” she asked curiously. “How long after Hogwarts?”

Remus raised his hand to rest it on the wall, leaning on it a bit to talk to her. “I don’t know if my experience counts. We had a war--”

“So do we,” Hermione interrupted. He nodded deferentially to her point. “That’s the thing. My Time Turner use, the war, recovering in the Department of Mysteries, all of those things laid on the scale can shift it more toward feeling like an adult. That’s not what did it, though. You did.”

Remus blanched at this.  _ “Hermione,” _ he started, his eyes almost wild.

She chuckled instead of objected, laid a calm hand on his arm instead of angrily protesting her point of view. “It’s nothing so scandalous, don’t worry. Have you ever read something or watched something and felt like you identified with one character or archetype only to watch it again years later and find your perspective had shifted? Feeling like the student and then finding later that you really recognize yourself in the teacher?”

“Yes, I have. More times than just teaching Defense at Hogwarts,” he said, pushing off from the wall to stand upright in front of her, curiosity and interest written plainly on his face.

“When I was angry just now, I felt guilty, too. Guilty that I wasn’t there to stand up for you when the other adults failed to act properly,” Hermione told him, gesturing with her quill. “That’s a perspective shift. I wasn’t there, after all. But now? Now they’re not infallible bastions of knowledge anymore. They’re human. They screwed up, like regular humans do.” She smiled apologetically at Remus. “I’m sorry to knock you down off of the pedestal without any warning.”

She had completely, absolutely not done that. He was still firmly up there.

Remus had the look on his face that she’d seen once when he was reading a really deep book on Transfiguration theory and he’d finally grasped a concept that had eluded him for a week. “Minerva, myself, Arthur-- we’re your colleagues, now. Is that what you’re saying? You see yourself differently?”

“I see them, and  _ you, _ differently,” Hermione corrected. 

“You’re saying you didn’t at the beginning of the evening?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It’s been a surreal evening,” she said with a small laugh. “One more thing on the to-do list, now.”

“From one colleague to another, of course,” he said gravely. She tucked her quill back into her hair and he stepped close, leaned over, and pecked her quickly on her lips before walking away.

She tried not to be disappointed.

“Goodnight, then,” Remus said from across the room. She suppressed a sigh and went to follow him out of the room. Except, she couldn’t. She was still stuck.

“Remus!” she called out. He froze in the doorway, his right hand coming up to hold onto the doorframe. “It didn’t work,” she said apologetically. 

She could tell by the way his shoulders raised and then fell that he’d taken a deep breath and let it out. When he turned around, she knew she’d have to watch him cross the room, to walk across that entire expanse just to come and kiss her. Maybe she could live on that until the time she would have to cast the Null Magic spell? He opened his mouth to say something, and she shook her head, suddenly desperate.

“Don’t. Don’t say anything, please? I won’t either. Just--”

He nodded, and she nearly sagged with relief. She could pretend, in this moment, that it was her Remus walking toward her. That they were together and happy, that he was coming over to say goodnight before she stayed up to study something important to her. 

Remus walked toward her with purpose, unhurried. By the time he reached her, she was keyed up, feeling almost weightless with anticipation. As he crossed the last few feet between them, she felt a stab of fear. This Remus was  _ not _ hers, and he was good at interpreting body language. She’d have to be very careful not to let him guess her secret. He’d be hurt and disappointed, and most of all, he would probably want to stop her.

Instead of kissing her, Remus folded her into a long hug. When he was done, he pulled back just a bit, and despite herself, she looked up at him, raising an eyebrow at his odd behavior. He smiled down at her, and together, they moved in, he down, she up, until their lips met. Hermione couldn’t help curling her fingers into a fist around his shirt. A few seconds later, he pulled back, but then he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“Thanks for being in my corner,” he whispered. Then he pulled back, and she couldn’t resist answering him. She told him the complete, awful truth.

“I’ll be there as long as I live, you know,” Hermione said. “You’re worth it.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say that I haven't abandoned Inspires Us to Greater Poetry, I just felt the need to get this story out and published before I work on it some more. I don't want to cross-contaminate my versions of Remus! Plus I really love this story and wanted to get it out there for others to enjoy.
> 
> Thank you for any and all comments! This has been a delight to write and I can't wait for you to read the rest!


	9. Part III; Chapter Nine: Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding himself captivated by Hermione despite his best efforts, Remus delivers her letter to Minerva, who tells him what it said. Angry, Remus confronts Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The perspective shifts in Part III back to Remus.

##  Part III: The Earthly Messenger

###  Chapter Nine: Sunlight

Remus had a lot of trouble sleeping the night after Sirius’s party. While he’d worked at Hogwarts, he’d had long talks with Minerva about the joys of watching one’s students mature into adults. She’d spoken at length, clearly finding that aspect one of the principal things that made her feel a worthwhile teacher. He could see the draw; there had to be something truly special about knowing a student so well after teaching them for all their years at Hogwarts and then coming across them as adults to hear about how they’d been fulfilling their talents and aspirations as a grown-up. 

For Remus, though, that was his most uncomfortable and unhappy aspect. He went from being a professor to an ‘adult with vague, nebulous authority,’ and he felt that the farther distance in years he got from having been on faculty at Hogwarts, the more he felt unused to the odd stagnant relationship his former students had with him. Not Fred or George, of course-- they saw him as a mentor, a person to look up to, as a Marauder. Harry, though.  _ Hermione, _ though. They called him ‘professor’ and set him apart in a way he disliked intensely. It reminded him of the first year he was a Prefect, the way his friends held themselves apart from him because he had Authority. He hadn’t seen himself as Harry and Hermione’s friends necessarily, but he didn’t want to be unapproachable, either.

He might wish he could go back to that dynamic, though.

He’d always liked Hermione. She was studious in a way that differed from a lot of other students; her love of learning and innate need to know about things reminded him of how he felt about certain subjects, though for her, it seemed to be  _ everything. _ From her, Remus learned that he could respect a student the same way he could respect a peer. She’d figured out his secret and kept it, and it hadn’t actually hurt as much as it could have when she’d called him a werewolf with the fear and a bit of loathing in her tone of voice. She felt like that, yet  _ still kept his secret, _ because she’d seen him as valuable, as someone to protect, even as a scary werewolf. He still treasured that memory, and had kept his eye on her as best he could in the years since then.

Remus had worried with the others when she, Ron, and Harry had disappeared, but he’d felt true fear when Minerva had come to him with her proposition. She’d said Hermione needed a place to live, somewhere truly safe, someplace that was walled and warded and protected by smart wizards with quick minds. Something awful had happened to her, and Remus thought Minerva knew exactly what it was. That she wouldn’t tell him,  _ him, _ who had been what nearly everyone he’d taught called ‘the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor we’ve ever had!’ Even if they hadn't had much to compare him to, Remus knew he was no slouch when it came to Defense. Whatever had happened to Hermione had to have been a nightmare.

Hermione had told him it was in the defense of him that she now saw herself as an adult. It was yet another rare and precious compliment, given freely with no self-consciousness. If he were any other man, he’d have laid his heart at her feet last night.

Remus wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t.

That thought made him feel alternatively sick to his stomach and dizzy. He was uncomfortable, worried, and he had no one to talk to about it. Sirius would never be able to overlook the joke potential, no matter how much he knew Remus abhorred jokes about impropriety. And it was so very inappropriate. Kissing Hermione had been unexpected and devastating. He could see himself falling for her if only she were older, if only she hadn’t been his student, if only-- the recriminations had kept him up all night, and the worst part about them was that in the cold light of day they seemed so incredibly insignificant compared to the light she was as a person.

Hermione’s intelligence and cleverness kept him on his toes. She was beautiful in alternatively innocent and lush ways. Her earnest desire to do the right thing even when it risked her reputation made his heart hurt, especially when she directed that altruistic spirit toward creature causes. Recently, Hermione was fragile in ways he’d never known her to be, and strong in unexpected places, too. He couldn’t pull away from her now, he sensed that, but in preserving her from harm he might be submitting himself for just as much.

The letter he still kept in his wallet from Iraja floated up into his mind’s eye.

> _ Someday, someone else will love you like I did. Let her. Love her back? _

He couldn’t imagine Hermione loving him. Wanting her to would be damning her to live her life in the shadow of the full moon.

Remus skipped breakfast and headed to Hogwarts to see Minerva and give her Hermione’s letter. He knew he would spend the day missing Iraja in a way he hadn’t for many years, but it was the time he would spend  _ not _ missing her that had him concerned.

oOoOoOo

Remus Apparated in outside the perimeter of Hogwarts’ wards to walk in. He was one of the few that wouldn’t trip the intruder alarm, but still, he didn’t want to antagonize Snape any more than he already did by simply existing. Almost as an afterthought, he cast a slight Disillusionment Charm on himself so that he was less noticeable in case the Carrews were lurking in the halls. The act of casting it made him smile, thinking about Hermione’s use of the spell the night before. For once, he decided to give himself some grace; he’d been thinking fond thoughts of her in terms of friendship ever since she’d arrived at Potter Manor. Perhaps it was just the forced intimacy of the Weasley Twins’ dratted mistletoe that had changed the nature of those thoughts, that was all.

He cancelled the charm right before knocking on Minerva’s office door. He knew she tried to be in her office at the same time every day if she possibly could, in case anyone in the Order sent Remus to pass along a message. Her voice called out for him to enter, and Remus opened the door and walked in.

Immediately, the anxious atmosphere that had felt so oppressive at Hogwarts lifted. She had a cheerful fire going, and the simple cleanliness and homey decorative touches she had added to the office walls made him feel safe and happy.

“I enhanced the Hearth Charm for the holiday. Dolores abhors it, she makes the most glorious nauseated face if she so much as pops her head in!” Minerva said in a voice of deep satisfaction.

“She still comes by that often?” Remus asked, surprised.

“Amycus and Alecto are not the brightest tools in the broom cupboard. She has to reinforce their directives,” Minerva sighed. “Do you have any messages for today?”

He pulled out Hermione’s letter and handed it to her. As usual, he walked over to the window and waited patiently for her to finish reading and decide whether she would be writing a response. Remus was trying to block out memories of the way Hermione had angrily grabbed his lapels to kiss him when he heard a sound of distress. Minerva was the soul of calm, so even though it was rude, he turned to see if she needed anything.

Minerva had the letter crumpled in one hand, and her other hand was clasped over her mouth. Her blue eyes were full of tears. Remus lifted both eyebrows in a silent request to come over to her, and she nodded.

“I don’t want to pry,” Remus promised. “Just tell me what I can do.”

“Oh, Remus. To go through this again, I don’t know if I can--” she broke off and took a deep breath. He felt profoundly unhelpful, but Minerva McGonagall wasn’t a touchy-feely person, and he didn’t want to look like he’d forgotten that in a moment like this. “All in strictest confidence, of course, but I think I need your advice,” Minerva told him.

“Of course,” Remus said. He pulled out a chair from the student desk nearest to her, turned it around, and sat. She remained standing, pacing back and forth in front of him.

“There’s a spell I have been working on, with research help from Miss Granger. The object of the spell is to use the caster’s potential magic, all of it, as an activator to bond with and then nullify the kinetic magic of everyone in a radius around them. Preliminary testing has shown that this could be quite effective and dangerous, but there is a catch. To access all of one’s potential magic--”

“That’s thought to be fatal!” Remus couldn’t help interjecting.

“It is. Unfortunately, it’s impossible to access a fraction of it without rebound effects. It’s all or nothing.”

Remus swallowed. “So the caster would be killing themselves, too.”

“A sacrificial spell, yes. One that my favorite student has volunteered to cast,” Minerva said, holding up the crumpled letter.

“No!” Remus stood up. “Absolutely not.” He felt an overpowering surge of anger and horror at the idea that caught his thoughts up in a whirlpool. Down, down, down it swirled, leading to the worst outcome: Iraja.

“I agree, Remus. Truthfully, I am more upset that she would suggest herself at all. I have every intention of being the caster, and if not myself, another  _ adult _ would suffice,” Minerva said, her voice growing shrill.

“Diminishing Hermione, and for that matter Harry and Ron as still children isn’t the way to persuade them not to make adult decisions, Minerva,” Remus said firmly. “I agree with you on your first point, though. The fact that she’d even consider it is disturbing. I have to assume it’s related to her ordeal in the Department of Mysteries?”

Minerva’s lips pinched together in disapproval, but she nodded. Remus tamped down his panic. He would deal with these crises in order, and right now, Minerva’s distress was right in front of him.

“Is she equipped with the right information to cast it?”

“I think so. The sacrifice must be willing, that is the part that upsets me. Hermione  _ knows _ this. If it’s successful, the spell will undoubtedly be placed among the Unforgivables. The emotional aspect may be altruistic, but the results mean even that could be twisted, in the wrong hands.” Minerva walked over to her desk, supporting herself on each student desk as she passed them. She sank into her chair, looking defeated.

“Do you want me to talk to her?” Remus offered. Minerva’s head snapped up and for a split second, she looked worried and guilty. The look faded almost immediately as she schooled her expression into her patented severity.

“I would never ask you to dredge up painful memories like that for anything less than saving a person’s life,” she finally said. She didn’t meet his eyes.

“Knowing Hermione, she would dismiss my analogy as inapplicable anyway. She’s not dying,” Remus said, giving Minerva a shrewd look. “You would tell me if she were, wouldn’t you, Minerva?” he added, keeping his gaze level.

“Miss Granger’s ordeal in the Department of Mysteries is not my story to tell, Remus Lupin,” Minerva replied with characteristic tartness.

Remus relaxed. “That’s an answer, of a kind,” he told her impudently. “Your deflections have a certain regularity. They always angle toward vagueness if I’m close to the truth, and specificity if I am not.”

The door behind them opened before Minerva could respond to him. He turned to see an elderly woman, small in stature but with a regal sort of bearing. She had curly white hair that was held back in a low ponytail, and her wand was stuck into it.

“Oh! You have company. I can come back later?” the woman said. Her voice was shaky but had a warm, friendly quality to it, almost like she was as affected by the Hearth Charm as the room around them.

“Febie!” Minerva shot an apologetic look over at Remus and stood up to greet the visitor. Remus stood up, ready to excuse himself so that the women could speak in private.

“Remus, this is Febronia. Febronia, this is Remus. She’s been helping us with Arithmancy,” Minerva said to Remus after the introduction. He was surprised that she didn’t offer anything about Remus to Febronia, but he wasn’t sure he would have liked hearing what she’d have chosen to say anyway. He assumed that ‘us’ meant the Order.

“Very nice to meet you,” he said politely. He didn’t reach out to shake her hand because she was staring at him with anxiety written clearly across her face. Could Arithmancy predict who was a werewolf, or did she see his scars and assume?

“You’re staring, Febie,” Minerva said bluntly.

“Oh dear. I  _ am _ sorry. It’s just that you look like someone I knew, someone who has now passed on. I wasn’t prepared for--” The woman broke off and reached into a round bag that hung off of her arm, rooting around inside it and eventually coming out with a tissue.

Remus was about to express his regrets that he had to leave, but Minerva spoke, still clearly upset about the implications of Hermione’s letter.

“You were right. She offered to cast it,” Minerva said to Febronia. The older woman looked sad, but nodded.

“You can’t let her, of course, and not just because of any personal stake,” Febronia said with a strange little smile. “The only logical caster is me.” She pointed with her tissue first at Minerva, and then herself.

Remus didn’t know this woman well, but her matter-of-fact attitude was instantly endearing, despite the subject matter. He couldn’t see how she could predict when to be where, however.

“That makes sense in theory, but how would you be able to know when you’d be needed?” he asked her. Her confidence made him guess something. “You live nearby, don’t you. Hogsmeade?” he suggested. She nodded, shooting a look at Minerva.

“Arithmancy isn’t everything, Febie. There are many more factors than what you can tell us will happen!,” Minerva said, sounding upset again.

“Harry  _ must _ be involved. Please, promise me that, Minerva? Defeating him isn’t enough. We must fulfill the prophecy,” Febronia said in an impassioned voice. The tremulous quality of her voice from age was more evident than it had been before.

“We’ve gone over this. I will do what I can, but you of all people know I am cautious about…  _ predictions, _ and the implications of that,” Minerva said, grabbing Febronia’s hands in hers and staring intently at her. “We want the same things, Febie.”

Remus felt profoundly out of place, but he didn’t want to open the door and risk the two witches’ privacy. He cleared his throat respectfully.

“I should be going. I’ll speak with her, with your permission?” he said to Minerva, moving over to stand at the door to put some physical distance between himself and their conversation, in case they didn’t hear him.

Instead of Minerva, though, it was Febronia who spoke to him. “She needs to be grounded in what matters to her here and now. Not what she’s lost in the past, or can’t have in the future.”

Ordinarily, Remus would have felt a bit offended at a stranger offering advice to him about someone he’d known for years, but something in Febronia’s voice led him to believe that she really cared about what she was saying. In a way, she reminded him of Albus; her advice sounded like it came from someone who had lived a long time and consequently had a lot of knowledge about interpersonal things to draw from.

He opened his mouth to answer her, but Minerva spoke before he had a chance to.

“I know you’re cross that I won’t tell you what happened to her, but I think it would be best if she told you when she’s ready.” Both women looked at him with identical expressions of worry, and he ducked his head in a nod.

“I’ll see you later this week, then. Goodbye Minerva, Febronia,” he said, taking his leave politely. Before he had completely shut the door, he heard Minerva’s voice again.

“Sit down. You managed just fine!”

Remus wondered if Febronia was afraid of werewolves. Even if she was, she was polite to him for the most part, and that was all he could ask, really.

oOoOoOo

Harry was at the house when Remus got home. He and Sirius were sitting at the kitchen table talking. It looked like a serious conversation, so Remus just nodded a hello and headed for the library. His long walk from the castle proper to the edge of Hogwarts’ wards had been a rough one. He’d had a lot to think about, and the more he thought about the idea of Hermione offering to sacrifice herself using a spell, the more he worried that the calm, ‘recovering nicely’ exterior she showed them might be a facade.

The library was empty. Remus let out a sigh and walked up the stairs to the second floor, trying to decide what to do if Hermione didn’t answer her door when he knocked. Slipping a note under her door felt too flirty as someone who had kissed her more than once the day before, but turning around and walking away wasn’t an option, not after the letter _she’d_ _had_ _him deliver_ that announced she was suicidal.

He stood outside her door for a minute before knocking quickly, twice. 

Hermione opened the door with a surprised expression on her face. “I honestly didn’t expect to see you for a few days,” she said. “Do you want to come in? This room is basically a suite.”

“Yes, thank you,” he said politely, ignoring the way he felt slightly exposed by her comment. She stepped to the side and he walked in. The room was neat and orderly, but also lived-in. There was a chair by the window which had a low table piled high with books, and the footrest in front of it had an open notebook with a still-wet quill laid across it. The bed was on a dais on the far wall, and looked like it hadn’t been touched in months, though he knew otherwise.

“Do sit down?” she prompted him, and he started in surprise.

“Was I staring? I apologize,” he said. “I have to tell you that I am completely unsurprised to find that you know such an efficient spell to make your bed. I was staring because I have yet to find one that is so meticulous-- there are always lumps in the layers, for me.”

Hermione looked embarrassed. “Actually, I make it by hand. I still find it difficult to do mundane things with magic, unless I truly hate the task.”

They sat down on opposite ends of the couch in the center of the room, and Hermione looked at him expectantly.

“I delivered your letter to Minerva today. She was quite distressed by it.”

Her face fell, but she didn’t drop her eyes. “You use language so precisely. I’ve always liked that about you,” she said, smiling at him shyly. “It gives me a hint of your meaning if I’m able to catch it. I’ve never heard you refer to Professor McGonagall’s first name before, so that tells me you want me to think about this situation not as a student, but as a member of the Order.”

“It wasn’t intentional, but it could have been subconscious,” Remus answered. He felt like he’d been given a compliment, but thanking her for it felt gauche.

“I assume she showed you the letter?” Hermione asked. He saw her tense her shoulders and lift her chin in preparation for his answer.

“She hinted at the contents, but didn’t let me read it,” he told her. “I’m a bit surprised you asked that.”

Hermione gave him a withering look, and he felt properly chastised. She was right, he would have stayed away from her but for Minerva’s reaction to her letter. He tried to think of what to say, how to salvage the conversation and still retain the moral authority to  _ order her _ not to even think about casting a spell that would take her life, but before he came up with something, she spoke again.

“You’re the most trustworthy person I know, and I haven’t ever seen her upset. It’s a logical assumption.” Hermione pulled something from a pocket and started to gather her long hair into one hand, tying it back with the hair band. “Tell me you’re not here to change my mind,” she challenged, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Remus leaned forward in his seat, resting his upper arms on his legs as he looked at her. “I just want to know what could possibly bring you to offer,” he said gently. 

Hermione opened her mouth, then shut it. She closed her eyes and looked at the ceiling, one hand going to her chest, the other on her wand, one finger stroking it. She took a deep breath, then shook her head in a sad little wry way, like she was disappointed in herself.

“Do you know what’s sad? The three people I love most in this world have no idea who I am and what I mean to them,” she said, wiping one eye with an angry swipe of her hand. “Before we left, I decided to hide my parents, so no one would hurt them because of me. The best way to do that was to hide everything about me in their memories. I sent them to Australia.” After she said those shocking words, she gasped, like the effort of admitting what she’d done was physically painful.

“Hermione,” Remus said, stunned and sad for her. A thousand alternate options rose to the surface in his mind, but he immediately dismissed them. What was done was done. He could talk with her about her parents another time, when he wasn’t trying to  _ save her life. _

“Please, don’t say anything. I couldn’t bear it. I know it was awful, but I don’t regret saving their lives. But, don’t you see? I  _ have _ made hard choices, terrible choices. I gave up my life, in a way. I’d done it before,” Hermione said in a quiet, anguished voice. She groaned and scrubbed both hands over her cheeks. They came away wet. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry when I saw you were at the door.”

“I didn’t come to make you cry,” Remus told her. “I came to find out what I could do to remind you that you’re too valuable to lose like that. Minerva told me about the spell. It sounds brilliant and frightening.”

“Can’t you yell, instead?” Hermione whispered. “I had a whole speech ready for Professor McGonagall or Harry or whoever decided to confront me about this first.” She lifted her head and a tiny smile broke through her tears. “There was a lot of language about making the terrible choice to benefit your loved ones and how soldiers plan for scenarios like that. You know I don’t see it as a suicide, right? I don’t know if I fully accept that some people I care about will get hurt in the coming confrontation, but if one of them were me I would want to make my death count for something.”

Her words struck him like a blow, they reminded him so much of Iraja. He stood up and walked over to the window in her room, hoping that she would forgive him his rudeness and understand that such a heavy subject required some reflection. He was staring at the view of the lower level of Potter Manor’s roof and the forest beyond when he heard her stand up.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he turned around to face her. She was standing beside the couch, concern painted across her face, both hands on her wand as if holding it gave her strength. “In my last year at Hogwarts I knew someone,  _ loved _ someone who was sick and dying,” Remus started to say, his voice rough to his own ears.

“You don’t have to--”

“I do. She knew she was dying, and she chose to make that death count. She’d held herself apart from nearly everyone except me, knowing she was dying. The sum total of my anguish in losing her might have felt like a lot to  _ me, _ but I have to tell you, Hermione, you are loved and cared for by many, many people.” Remus stopped talking to swallow back the effects of bringing his pain to the surface again. She was looking at him with sympathy and sadness.

“You’re saying my choice will hurt more than it might help? How is it different than dying from an attack?” Hermione asked, and her hand pressed against one side of her stomach, where he knew a nasty curse had hit her in the Department of Mysteries, years before.

“It just is,” he said simply.

“I’m sorry you lost her,” Hermione whispered. “I’m sure she didn’t want to leave you.”

“It was inevitable,” Remus said. “But, you! You have your whole life ahead of you!” Now he was shouting. He wanted to shake her for not understanding.

“What if I don’t feel like that? What if I  _ thought _ I died, and then I woke up and I hadn’t? What if all of this feels wrong?” she shouted back, thrusting her wand into her hair and gesturing with both hands.

Remus strode over to her and grabbed her by her upper arms. “What happened? Did someone do this to you?  _ Tell me!” _

Hermione grabbed at the front of her shirt, fiddling with the neckline, and he slid his hands down to her wrists, pulling them onto his chest so she couldn’t escape his gaze. He let go once her hands were flat against him and put one hand on either side of her face.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me,” he said, his tone still harsh but not yelling, now.

“You can’t help me, no one can,” Hermione said, her brown eyes haunted. “Just let me go.” He moved his hands sideways, releasing her, and she stepped back, hugging her body tightly with both arms. “Just let me go,” she repeated. Then she ran from the room, throwing her door open to dash through it. The wind from her passing sent a few of her papers flying onto the floor.

oOoOoOo

Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Sirius were planning something. Hermione had set up a brewing station in the basement of the manor with at least two cauldrons. He had discovered it was warded when, after not having the chance to speak to Hermione in private for almost a week after her outburst, he’d found the brewing room and tried to go in. The door was locked, and he met Hermione on the stairs back up.

“Checking on your potions?” he’d asked in a casually friendly voice.

“Err, yes, thank you. They’re delicate. The wards are not about you, I promise,” she’d said. They must have warned her that someone had tried the door. 

All Remus got from Sirius about whatever scheme they were planning was that it involved retrieving something from a vault at Gringotts. Even learning that much was like milking a hippogriff to get out of him.

“Is it  _ your _ vault, then?” Remus had asked. Sirius had simply flashed a bright and brilliant smile that only had one meaning in Remus’s mind: no.

Five days before the full moon, Hermione announced she was going to spend a week at Shell Cottage, with a few days scattered in at the Burrow. It made perfect sense to want to celebrate the Easter holiday with her closest friends, and barring events like Sirius’s party with its exclusive trusted guest list, Potter Manor was considered a living space of last resort. It still felt personal, though. She wouldn’t tell him what had happened to her, and she wouldn’t even let him sense the damage it had left behind. Hermione saw it as a kindness, he knew. It didn’t feel that way to him.

Two weeks after his confrontation with Hermione, Remus finally got a message from the werewolves he’d been working with. After following Sirius’s advice about breaking off contact, Remus had worried more with each passing day since his last meeting with them. His quiet library days with Hermione were no more; she, Ron, Harry, and Sirius spent long hours in there planning their heist, and any time Remus went in to exchange books, they stopped all conversation and watched him. So when Bill showed up with the owled scroll from Nik, Remus had barely taken the time to thank him before rushing to his room for privacy while he read it.

> _ Gearing up for something big, next month or the one after. Fenrir is moving camps closer to Hogwarts. Anti-Apparition wards will be used to prevent enemy reinforcements. If you are still interested in information, send a message back within 24 hours of today, April 22nd. _
> 
> _ We don’t want to attack kids. _
> 
> _ Nik _

The flood of relief Remus felt on reading that last line was enough to make him breathless. He wrote out a quick response and Apparated to Shell Cottage so he could send an owl as soon as he could.

> _ Still interested. How many camps are being pushed towards Hogwarts? How soon do you think they’ll be close enough to come within hours of a confrontation? _
> 
> _ Start preparing/looking for a bolt-hole? You could retreat there when called to attack. Fenrir goes berserk when fighting. _
> 
> _ You don’t have to attack kids. We will help you. _
> 
> _ Remus _

After sealing the scroll and handing it to Bill to send to the middle-man contact, Remus wrote another letter, this time to Minerva. He would deliver it himself, but wanted it written, in case she wasn’t available to speak privately.

> _ Werewolf contact claims preparations are being made for a large confrontation at Hogwarts. Some who are being mobilized are unwilling to attack children. Can we organize support so they can break away and hide instead of participating in an attack? _
> 
> _ Your friend Febronia said she was living in Hogsmeade. Can you ask her if some Order members can stay with her to be close by if the school is attacked? Werewolf spy claims the enemy may be planning to use Anti-Apparition Wards to prevent reinforcements from outside the area. _
> 
> _ Are there places for students to hide safely at Hogwarts? We may need them. _
> 
> _ Remus _

As he left Hogwarts, Remus found himself unwilling to go home right away. He walked the long way toward Hogsmeade, lost in thought about the coming battle and what he could do to fight and defend at the same time. Would Fenrir simply unleash his werewolves to attack children and cause them to be half-cursed, like Bill Weasley? Or would the threat of such behavior be enough for them to round up the students and threaten their lives in exchange for Harry’s?

Remus looked around him to see that he’d started walking into Hogsmeade without even realizing it. The normal bustle of activity, subdued as it might have been so soon after the Easter holiday, was gone. One or two witches and wizards could be seen hurrying from place to place, but most of the businesses were closed and shuttered as if they weren’t reopening again. One of these was the quill shop, and Remus knew that would bother Hermione, if she chose to come with him to stay in Hogsmeade.

He sighed. The world around him had changed against his will. Was it any wonder that he himself was changing?

Remus had seen what he came for. He Apparated home, his head down, rushing into his bedroom to avoid anyone else. All there was to do now was wait for responses to his messages, and he didn’t have to be awake for the first few hours of that.


	10. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus continues to deal with his growing attraction for Hermione while he and the rest of the Order prepare for the coming battle. Part of the preparation is staging some of them at Hogsmeade, closer to the school.

###  Chapter Ten: Water

“Yes, they’re still stewing. They still have about two days left before I can start the rest of it.”

It was Hermione’s voice. Remus walked past the living room of Shell Cottage where the voices were coming from and tapped on the doorway of the dining room. He smiled when Fleur Weasley turned around.

“Remus! Bill is in ze living room.” He walked over to give her a one-armed hug. 

Do you think they mind if I pull him away? I don’t want to interrupt,” he asked.

Fleur made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “They’re fine. Go on,” she encouraged.

Remus relaxed a bit more when he saw that no one was huddled together or writing anything down. They were just chatting, it seemed. Ron saw him first.

“Remus is lurking in the hallway. Someone hide me, his treatments are going to make me bonkers!” he joked, ducking behind Harry, who was seated beside him on the couch.

Remus walked in and leaned sideways to make eye contact with Ron. “It must be healing nicely if you can twist your hips like that without pain in your back. I’ll hold off on another treatment today,” he teased.

“He of course means ‘thank you,’” Hermione said in a disapproving voice.

“By ‘healing’ you mean its not getting infested with Tageioles, right, Professor?” Luna Lovegood asked from a rocking chair in the corner of the room.

Remus thought for a moment. ‘Tages’ was an Etruscan deity of divination, but the word fragment ‘tage’ was a part of a few words in Latin that had to do with infection. He decided to nod politely at her, and as he turned back to the main group, he caught Harry’s eye. Harry widened his eyes and nodded sagely.

“Found it!” Bill said, jogging into the room. He was holding a chess board and a bag of pieces.

“We had Ron’s set for a while but he took it back to the Burrow. His mum is on a cleaning rampage, so we decided a visit was in order,” Harry explained with a grin.

“Remus! I have some messages for you,” Bill told him. “I’ll grab them.” He jogged back out of the room.

Hermione stood up. “Well, I think I’m off. I have the last stages to brush up on at the library at home. I’ve watched Harry lose to Ron enough times at school,” she said, leaning over to kiss Harry’s cheek. 

Bill came back with four scrolls and an envelope and handed them over. Remus clasped him on the shoulder and told him to take care before following Hermione outside. Shell Cottage was small enough that it was more polite to Apparate in and out from the porch area.

“That was clever,” Remus told Hermione when they had both Apparated home. She looked up at him with a confused expression and he explained. “You complimented Ron, mildly insulted Harry, then kissed Harry’s cheek, but not Ron’s. It balanced out.”

“Oh that,” Hermione said, laughing lightly. “I don’t know if I even notice doing that anymore.”

“It’s sweet,” he said. The pleased look on her face in response to that made his insides twist a bit, and Remus nodded at her and walked away. He jammed his hands in his pockets to distract himself so he wouldn’t turn around and see if she was watching him. 

He missed her.

She’d been holed up with Harry, Sirius, and Ron a good deal, and Remus could tell that their plans were important and confidential. It was important to Sirius to have a secret, to be helping, and if that meant Remus was out of the loop, he was strangely content with that. He was more bothered by the strange and unfamiliar feelings of jealousy he felt in regards to Hermione’s time and attention. It was  _ good _ that she was busy and making plans. Suicidal people rarely did that. He wasn’t comforted by that as much as he should have been, though. The plans she was making were presumably intended to bring forward the confrontation mentioned in the prophecy. That confrontation was where he assumed she planned to cast the spell. For all he knew, this was  _ part _ of her plan.

Remus shut the door of his room and leaned against it. He didn’t like feeling off balance like this. Despite Iraja’s letter, Remus had never intended to let himself feel romantically inclined toward anyone again, much less someone so much younger than he was. It was perhaps her age which had let her sneak her way in, he mused. He had been charmed by her personality, impressed by her intelligence, and drawn in by the things they had mutual interest in. Only after those seeds had been sown had he begun to be attracted to her physically.

He pushed off from the door and reached for the messages Bill had gathered for him. Remus ignored the voice in his head that told him he was seeking out harbingers of war in an attempt to avoid thinking about Hermione.

oOoOoOo

“Nearly all of them have relocated to the cave system near Hogwarts,” Remus told Minerva. “My contact thinks the beginning of May is very likely as a target.”

Minerva took off her spectacles and rubbed the places on her nose they’d been resting on. Her sigh was weary. “So, while the school is still in session, then,” she finally said.

“He told me he didn’t want to kill children. I don’t know how many of his pack share that sentiment, and I didn’t ask.”

“I spoke with Febronia about your suggestion of Hogsmeade as a staging area. She told me that most of the locals have left; the curfews are strict and nearly every night there is a breach of the wards, resulting in unearthly shrieks from the alarm,” Minerva told him. “The boarding house she was staying in has been essentially left in her care, she says. There’s enough room for at least five people.”

“That’s perfect. I would like to relocate there as soon as possible. Sirius will have to stay put, but I can ask Hermione to come. She has said that both the Burrow and Shell Cottage are too busy for her, and Potter Manor is too cut off from communications,” Remus said. He stopped talking when Minerva put on her glasses again and fixed him with an amused look. He realized to his horror that he was piling justification onto justification for having Hermione come stay at the same house with him.

“Miss Weasley hasn’t returned to school, but she and Mr. Longbottom had been waging quite a war against the Carrews. It might be worth asking her to come with you. Of course, Molly Weasley’s clock would be more useful if it hadn’t been displaying ‘Mortal Peril’ for the past however many months,” Minerva said in an irritated voice.

“I wonder if she added a section for ‘Engaged in Battle,’ if the clock would warn their household when the conflict begins,” Remus mused. “Did Febronia leave her address with you?”

“She did. Will you be stopping by at the Burrow on your way home?” Minerva searched through a few stacked pages on her desk until she found one. She was about to hand it to Remus before she got a strange expression on her face. “Just a minute, I’ll write this down. Her handwriting is atrocious. Must be her age,” Minerva said, placing the page upside-down and drawing a new sheet of parchment out to copy the address over.

“I can pop by the Burrow if you need me to,” Remus offered.

“I was wondering if they’d heard from Charles Weasley at all. There’s an item I need to have destroyed by particular means, and I’m loathe to employ Fiendfyre if it’s possible dragon fire might have a similar effect. Last I heard, he was stuck in Romania, but I know his relationship with Miss Tonks gives him some motivation to find a way around that restriction,” Minerva said.

“They were both drunk at the house party you couldn’t come to,” Remus told her. “So it appears you were correct.”

Minerva leveled a steady glare at him for a few seconds. “I imagine smuggling him back  _ into _ Romania would be more difficult than getting him out in the first place,” she sighed.

“Were you hoping he would fly a dragon home?” he couldn’t help asking.

“I had considered it. Unless you think we can somehow get our hands on the dragon inside of Gringotts!”

oOoOoOo

Hermione was in the library when Remus got back from the Burrow. He heard her before he saw her; she was shouting, and with each shouted phrase, there was a thump.

“--no way to tell them exactly WHY I’m so afraid of her!”

THUMP

“I should be GRATEFUL for the fact that Ron is even willing to be near someone who LOOKS like her!”

THUMP

Remus stepped into the doorway and saw that Hermione was reshelving books after clearly having had a wide-ranging study session. Her back was to the door, standing beside the desk piled high with books. He took a step forward into the room and she shouted something else.

“You CAN use Polyjuice cross-genders, but of course her stupid translator is a GINGER!”

After having seen the previous book fly past the doorway, Remus thought he was prepared for what would happen next, but the book flying toward his face still took him by surprise. If it hadn’t been for his lycanthropic reflexes, he would have gotten a broken nose.

The THWACK sound of him catching the book in his hand was different enough from the satisfying THUMP of the book flying into its spot on the bookcase, and Hermione turned around.

“Self-defense, I promise,” Remus said, holding the book out to her. “Any reason why you sound like my old Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?”

Hermione laughed. “Merlin. I did, didn’t I? I’m frustrated by my role in Harry and Sirius’s plan. I don’t think I can act like Bellatrix Lestrange, even if I cast  _ Silencio  _ on myself. And of  _ course _ her stupid translator happens to have red hair and is male. It would be stupid not to dress Ron up as the translator.” 

“Bellatrix?” A cold fear struck Remus. Was she planning to sneak up on Voldemort pretending to be Bellatrix Lestrange and cast her sacrificial spell? Hermione turned away from him again, and he took a deep breath, trying to calm his frantic thoughts.

_ \--not again, not again, not again-- _

“Yes, the item we need is in her vault at Gringotts. Griphook thinks he can help us get in, we made a deal with him, but one of us has to Polyjuice as Bellatrix for it to work. She’s apparently on house arrest, so the chance she’ll actually show up at the same time is very low,” Hermione said. 

It was clear to him that she’d spent so much time talking over the plan with her co-conspirators that the importance of what she was actually suggesting had stopped weighing on her. He did catch one important aspect of the plan, though.

_ “That’s _ why you locked the potions room,” he said.

“Yes. That and your Wolfsbane,” Hermione said, smiling sweetly at him.

Her continued use of a mundane, conversational tone hid the meaning of what she said for a few seconds until his brain caught up.

“The…” he was speechless. Hermione, still smiling, gestured at him, but he didn’t comprehend it, so she walked over. With both hands, she moved him a few inches to the left, and then sent the next book in her stack flying into its place on the bookshelf.

THUMP

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

“Well if I didn’t, you would just have caught it with your hand instead of moving to the side, so--”

_ “Hermione,” _ Remus said.

She sniffed. “I did, rather. Once again, no one in the Order made allowances for you. Or are you going to tell me that when the current ‘headmaster’ of Hogwarts ascended to his position, someone stepped up to make it for you?” She used her fingers to make a derisive gesture as she said the word ‘headmaster.’

He shook his head.

“Do you trust me to make it for you?” Hermione asked. She bit her lip, an endearing mix of stubborn and uncertain.

“Unequivocally,” he said without hesitation.

Her smile lit up her whole face, and he took in a long, deep breath to steady himself. It was time to change the subject away from altruistic deeds that made him feel things he shouldn’t.

“I came to find you because Minerva and I think that the conflict that we’ve all been preparing for is going to happen at Hogwarts, and soon,” he told Hermione.

“Before term lets out?” she asked in a frightened voice.

“Yes. From what I’ve heard from the werewolves I’m in contact with, Fenrir has moved them to dens near the school. I think we should respond in kind. I have an invitation from an Order member who has been living in Hogsmeade to relocate temporarily to her boarding house.”

“Would we be able to move freely back and forth? The brewing--”

“Minerva says the wards and curfew apply to the outdoors. As long as we establish ourselves in the house before nightfall, we should be able to Apparate in and out from inside without triggering them,” Remus said. “I’m concerned that we’re too cut off from immediate communication here. If something happens, we might not find out right away.”

“You want me to stay in Hogsmeade too? I would have thought cutting me off from communication here would keep me from using my Kamikaze skills,” she said, leaning against the desk on an insolent hip, her arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. She tipped her head to the side when he didn’t respond right away, and it was a perfect picture of outrage, except for the quill that fell free of most of her hair. Pulled by gravity, it hung onto one lone curl, swinging.

Remus tried very valiantly not to laugh, but he couldn’t help it.

“Oh, bugger,” Hermione said. She grabbed the quill and glared at it before slamming it down onto the desk.

“I would never lock you away to stop you from doing something you thought was right,” Remus said in a quiet, firm voice. “I would try to change your mind, even let you try to change mine, but in the end, I would support you.”

“I know,” Hermione said. Her lip trembled as if she were going to cry, but she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and then she was back to normal, her chin lifted in defiance of all opposition. “I’ll come to Hogsmeade. Taking me with you won’t be signing my death warrant, Remus.”

He nodded and gestured to her books. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I know you won’t want to leave even for a day without putting them all away.” At her nod, he turned and left the room, pausing just out of sight to shake his head at the surge of worry he felt for her safety. Then, he heard her say something that meant his worry was firmly rooted. It was quiet and resigned and terrifying to him.

“It was signed months ago, anyway.”

oOoOoOo

Remus went to find Sirius after he packed a small bag. When Sirius answered his knock, there were some frantic shuffling sounds on the other side of his shut bedroom door. Then, the door opened, and Sirius was smiling and gesturing for Remus to come in. The room was as tidy as could be expected, though his bed was covered with various black items of clothing.

After Remus filled Sirius in on the reason he was leaving the house for a while, he looked over at the bed again. There was something out of place, and he couldn’t figure out what it was.

Then, he saw it. A black dress with a billowy skirt in black lace layers. Now that Remus saw its outline, it seemed impossible that he’d missed it the first time.

Remus looked at Sirius and raised a single expressive eyebrow.

“Did Hermione… tell you what we’ve been planning?” Sirius asked hesitantly.

“Only today. I didn’t really need to know, and you have precious few secrets,” Remus told him.

“I’ve been trying to transfigure some of my old black things into something for Hermione to wear as Bellatrix. You know, witchy and evil,” Sirius said, gesturing vaguely.

“About that,” Remus said, leaning forward in his chair. “Does it have to be Hermione? I don’t know if she hinted at this to any of you, but she’s very intimidated.”

“Hasn’t said a word,” Sirius said. “If I’m honest, I’d love to do it. I think I have her haughty, silent bitch queen attitude memorized.”

Remus stood and put his hands into his pockets. “I don’t want her to think I’m meddling. What do you think about going to her and asking if you can do it? It should be sometime after we leave, a day or two from now while she’s here tending to the potions?”

“Do you think she’ll be upset at being left out?” Sirius asked doubtfully.

Remus chuckled. “I think you are the only one with that fear, Padfoot.”

He turned to leave, but movement in a reflection in the small mirror beside the bedroom door made him turn around and cast a shield charm.

“Every time!” Sirius griped.

oOoOoOo

When Remus met Hermione in the living room at their agreed time, he saw that she had a sensible shoulder bag and a briefcase. He had expected her to try to bring a large number of books, so he was pleasantly surprised.

“What’s that look for?” she asked him, blowing a curl out from over her eye.

“I’m impressed by your restraint. Chances aren’t good that there’s a library in the boarding house, and you won’t be able to sneak into Hogwarts’ library, after all. I expected more books along with the clothes,” Remus said.

“Wait, clothes?” Hermione said, looking up at him in panic. He sucked in a breath to say something, and her expression fractured into laughter. “I got you.”

Remus sighed. “You did.”

“I think you should side-Along me to the Shrieking Shack. It’s still full daylight, but I feel like the entire path from Hogwarts will be monitored, and that’s all I remember well enough to Apparate to on my own,” she suggested.

“That’s wise,” Remus agreed. The two of them arranged their bags so that she could stand beside him. He held out his arm, and she took it, shooting a shy side glance up at him. “Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” Hermione said.

The force of their appearance kicked up a lot of dust, but Hermione was lightning fast, casting bubble charms around their faces so they could exit the house without breathing it all in. Remus thanked her and set off toward Hogsmeade with Hermione slightly behind him. He glanced back and saw that she didn’t look like she thought he was rude. Hermione had her hand clasped around something hanging from her neck on a chain, and she had an inscrutable expression on her face. The curl had drifted back down over her left eye, and he turned away, laughing inwardly at what he knew would be her irritated expression when she finally gave up and dealt with it.

That thought reminded him of Iraja’s struggles with her hair, and he shook his head. Sirius had teased him back at Hogwarts when he’d first started spending study time with Iraja. ‘You love the wild-haired ones, don’t you?’ he’d asked.

Maybe he did, Remus thought to himself. The burgeoning feelings for Hermione didn’t seem to be going away.

There was a gentle touch to his arm, and he stopped walking. “Are you on autopilot?” Hermione said to him. 

Remus looked around him and saw that he’d started to angle toward Hogwarts instead of Hogsmeade. “Woolgathering, I suppose,” he said. “I apologize.” He gestured for Hermione to lead the way, but walked beside her instead of behind, as she had done. “‘Autopilot,’ is that a Muggle term?”

“Yes, it’s when Muggles train a computer to run a program without their input,” Hermione said. “A computer is--”

“That one I’ve read about, but thank you,” Remus interrupted. 

“They say someday they’ll be able to put whole libraries into computer memory. You could sit down at one and search them for specific words or phrases,” Hermione said. Her expression was dreamy, but she shook her head as if to clear it. “Of course, unless a Muggleborn takes the time to put them in, those databases would never have magical books in them anyway,” she sighed.

“Untapped potential, maybe?” he suggested.

“I don’t think so. Most Muggleborns want to lean in more than that. It would have to take something truly revolutionary for Muggle science to affect our world,” Hermione said.

“Like washing machines, for example,” Remus said mildly.

He could feel her gaze on him, and couldn’t help looking over at her and smiling. Their eyes met, and her gaze was warm until she looked away and gasped.

“Oh, Remus,” she said, stepping closer to him. “It’s so different.”

Hogsmeade was far from the thriving little cottage town they remembered. Few people were walking about, and all of them looked furtive and suspicious. Remus pulled out the note from Minerva with Febronia’s address on it and was grateful to see that the large building was nearby.

Hermione grabbed his arm. “The quill shop is closed.”

“It might be temporary?” he offered.

“I hope so. Places like that exist on such a thin margin anyway. Having to close down might prove too much of a cost in capital to reopen later,” she said sadly.

“Well, if you’re worried about it, you should plan to be around to patronize it when things do start to pick up again,” Remus said cheerfully.

“Sirius is right,” Hermione said after an ominous silence.

“Hmm?”

“You are insufferable.”

There was an actual board nailed over the name of the house at the number on Minerva’s paper. Remus walked up and knocked anyway.

After a minute or two, he could hear footsteps on the other side of the door. It opened, and he saw Febronia, her wand raised and pointed at the door. Remus held up his hands to show he wasn’t armed.

“Oh!” Febronia said, a smile creeping up onto her face. 

It wasn’t until that moment that he remembered she seemed to have a problem with him the first time he’d met her. If he’d thought about it, he would have put Hermione in front of him at the door to put her at ease. He stepped back and put out a hand for Hermione to step forward.

“Hermione, this is Febronia,” he said.

“Oh my, I see,” Febronia said, looking back and forth between them for a second. She suddenly smiled broadly and said, “Come on up, then! You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t shake your hand-- I’ve just been making up some potions, and I’m not as good with the  _ Scourgify _ as I used to be.”

“Very nice to meet you,” Hermione said when they were all standing in the foyer. 

“Thank you, dear,” Febronia said to her. “So the alarms seem to go off nightly, and they’re atrocious. Since the two of you are the first of the Order to arrive, I’ll place you in the back of the building, away from the street. It won’t help much, but it’ll help.”

Febronia led them up two flights of stairs, the second narrower than the first. At the top of the second set of stairs was a well-loved looking lounge chair guarding the hallway that extended to the right. Febronia walked confidently toward the end of the hallway. She passed one set of doors on each side and then opened the next door on the left and the one farther down the hall beside it. As soon as she opened the second door, she looked into the room and bit her lip, hesitating for a few seconds before shaking her head and stepping back. 

“They’re about the same, but it turns out I had retreated from my own room a few times into this one, so there are a few things of mine left behind. I can clear them away--”

“Oh, I’m sure it won’t be a problem. It’s temporary,” Hermione said. She stepped around Remus and walked over to peek into the room. “If by ‘a few things of yours’ you mean the small basket of knitting and a stack of books, they make a lovely homey decoration until you need them again,” she added. “Thank you, Febronia.” Hermione nodded to him and walked into the room.

Febronia had an oddly charmed look on her face as she walked back toward Remus.

“I make that face quite a lot lately,” Remus said in a conspiratorial tone. He leaned into the room he’d been assigned and saw it to be neat and orderly, with a hand-made afghan lying across the bottom of the bed.

“I’m glad,” Febronia said. “Settle in, I think you’ll enjoy dinner.”

Remus had been opening drawers to decide where to set his clothes when she said that, and he rushed to say there was no need to feed them, but Febronia was already gone.

oOoOoOo

Remus had brought a few books with him, and after reading a few chapters, the sun started to go down, and he decided to head down to see if Febronia needed help with dinner. As soon as he opened the door to his room, though, he smelled something delicious. He followed his nose downstairs and navigated through the foyer and receiving room area into the dining room which was set for three people. From there, he saw the cheerful arch of the kitchen and walked over to look inside.

Febronia was standing beside a large counter in the center of the room. The sink was running behind her, and she was clearing away remnants of whatever was in the oven. He saw carrot tops, potato shavings, onion skin, and various other vegetable pieces. After she had gathered all the pieces into a big pile, she brought out her wand and cast  _ Scourgify. _ Then she turned and washed her hands in the sink.

Since she had clearly not noticed him yet, Remus tapped lightly on the doorway to alert her to his presence.

Febronia turned around and her face lit up. “Remus!” She turned and used the towel hanging from the oven to dry her hands, and he saw her freeze in place a few seconds into the action. After what was clearly a deep breath, she turned around again.

There was something strange about Febronia, Remus decided. If it was because she was determined to be kind to a werewolf she was terrified of, to the point of faking happiness in seeing him, though, he wasn’t going to point it out.

“I came down to see if I could help with dinner,” Remus said.

“Oh, that’s kind of you, but I’ve got everything down pat by now. The sink takes a good two minutes to generate hot water, and the owner says if we tamper any more magically it’ll give out entirely. The counter can’t take a thorough  _ Scourgify, _ and the oven cooks at about three quarters’ Muggle time. By the time I taught all of that to you, I might as well make everything myself,” she said good-naturedly. 

“Maybe tomorrow you’ll let me set the table, then,” he suggested.

Her warm smile was genuine. “Thank you. That’s a good compromise.” She took off her apron and then turned her back for a minute. 

“Oh, that smells lovely! I can’t believe I didn’t smell it in my room!” Hermione said from behind him.

“That’s because there are anti-smell spells in each room,” Febronia told her. “I’m going to sit with this tea in the receiving room. There’s enough for the two of you, if you like. I put out sugar.”

Remus and Hermione both made their cups in silence. He was just about to ask Hermione if she needed cream when he saw that she’d finished and was leaving the kitchen. He followed shortly afterwards.

“I have an idea that I wanted to run by you,” Hermione told him as soon as they’d settled on two comfortable-looking chairs near the window. He nodded for her to continue, and she leaned forward. “I know not everyone can come stay. We don’t know how long we have to wait, after all. But I was thinking-- what about taking a few minutes to show each of those members the Full Moon House?”

It took Remus a few seconds to understand what she was doing, and the implications of it. She clearly thought that they shouldn’t speak completely freely, just in case, which was wise. 

“Is it outside the wards?” he asked, knowing she was referring to the Shrieking Shack.

“I can’t imagine why not, it’s quite far from here in terms of spell stretching,” Hermione said. “It shouldn’t be hard to show them the knothole.”

“That’s brilliant, Hermione. That’s what I’ll do tomorrow.” He sat back and sipped his tea. “I’d tell you who will most appreciate your suggestion, but I don’t want to risk any surveillance spells.”

“I don’t blame you, there,” Febronia said from her chair nearby. “I refresh my wards daily, but one can never be too careful.” An alarm went off in the kitchen, and Febronia stood. “Excuse me.”

“Can I help with anything?” Remus stood.

“Yes, actually. My levitation spells have really suffered with age.”

When he opened the oven door, he broke out into a huge grin. “Shepherd’s Pie! That is my absolute favorite.” 

It was delicious. Because there were only three of them at the table, he let Febronia bully him into a third helping.


	11. Oxygen and Nutrients

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Order of the Phoenix mobilizes in preparation for the upcoming battle, and Remus and Hermione both help as best they can. Hermione gives Remus reason to hope that she might return his feelings.

###  Chapter Eleven: Oxygen and Nutrients

Remus had perfected the art of ‘just dropping by’ the offices of his friends and fellow Order members. He dropped by Kingsley’s office at 11:30 and offered to go to lunch. They Apparated to Diagon Alley and got street food, but Remus suggested they wrap it up because of the dust in the Shack. When he Side-Alonged Kingsley to the Shrieking Shack, though, the dust was gone.

The main room was as tidy as a dilapidated werewolf hangout could possibly be. He wandered down to the passageway, a confused Kingsley trailing behind him. The entire dark tunnel to Hogwarts was clear of floor debris and cobwebs. When he got to the exit under the Willow, Remus turned around and shook his head in astonishment.

“Hermione Granger!” he exclaimed.

“Is that a password of some kind?” Shacklebolt asked.

oOoOoOo

Hestia Jones and Elphias Doge both said they would come to stay at the boarding house the following day, and Ginny Weasley promised she would come before nightfall. Remus came back exhausted and headed straight for the kitchen, but when he heard voices, he hung back. 

He had suggested that Minerva fill Febronia in on, if not the source of Hermione’s unhappiness, the result of it, hoping that she would open up to the kindly old woman. Febronia bore the mantle of authority, that seemed obvious, but she hadn’t ever held authority over Hermione, and he felt like she might feel more free to listen without the weight of obedience.

“--once our children were grown that the routines would change, but he was even more careful to make sure that I felt loved, every day. It wasn’t just for their benefit, for them to know their parents were in love and happy,” Febronia was saying. “His initial reluctance had to do with not wanting to share the burdens he carried, but I think in time he came to understand that because I loved him so much, they weren’t burdens to me. They were just part of being with him, just like some people’s partners are deaf, others have lost limbs, or have breathing problems. He wasn’t the curse he was struck with, he was a man who lived with some extra issues.”

“That’s beautiful,” Hermione said. Remus almost laughed. Her voice was resentful, as if finding a healthy loving relationship admirable was an inconvenience. He supposed that it was, to a suicidal person.

“I know it’s frustrating to feel you’re being lectured to--”

Hermione interrupted, and he could picture the distressed look on her face. “No, it’s not that. I have no chance of that kind of outcome. The person I’m in love with is not…” she paused, and Remus caught his breath. He listened intently until he needed to gasp for breath, but there were no more sounds from the kitchen.

Hermione or Febronia must have cast a silencing charm.

oOoOoOo

At dinner, Hermione helped Remus with a dilemma he’d been worried about ever since they left Sirius behind at Potter Manor. They’d found that Patronus messages had great trouble breaching the wards there, and Remus didn’t want to leave Sirius out of the coming fight.

“Ginny, did you keep your coin from the DA?” she asked.

Ginny’s expression was one of pride. “Not only do I still have my coin, but the DA still meets. Neville, Luna, and I ran it.”

“What! That’s brilliant! Oh, Ginny!” Hermione leaned over and gave the redhead a hug.

“Do you mind sharing with the rest of the class?” Febronia asked in a teasing tone.

“Our Defense professors were all shit except for Remus,” Ginny said with venom. “During my fourth year, Harry made a group for practicing the stuff they didn’t get to learn, and we’ve kept it up without him. Dumbledore’s Army, we call it.”

Hermione made eye contact with him and raised an eyebrow. He sensed that she could tell he wanted to chastise Ginny for her language, but was holding himself back. He narrowed his eyes at Hermione for a few seconds before refocusing his attention on Ginny.

“Thanks for the compliment, however outrageously phrased,” Remus told her. 

“So what’s this about the coin?” Ginny asked Hermione.

“Well, if you think Neville’s still got his, we can warn him if there’s an attack, but only if I can use yours to send his coin a message. Mine’s in my bag, buried at Hogwarts,” Hermione said.

“That should work. Why did you bury it?”

“You would not believe what a long and involved story  _ that _ is!” Hermione laughed.

“Wait, you can charm a coin of Ginny’s to send a message to Neville inside Hogwarts?” Remus asked. “Wouldn’t you have had to already charm his?”

“Yes. It’s a Protean charm, I charmed it back in Fifth year.”

Remus pulled two sickles from his pocket. “Could you charm these to send Sirius the same message?”

“Oh, Remus, that’s perfect!” Hermione said. “Hand them over.”

“Wait, add these. It wouldn’t hurt for us all to have one.” Febronia pulled out a change purse and handed over five more.

Remus watched as Hermione cast the charm and handed one to each of them at the table. Then she touched her wand to the one she’d taken for herself, her lips moving in a soundless message. Immediately, his coin warmed in his hand, and he looked at it. There was a message written plainly on one side, albeit in tiny, tiny letters.

THE ENEMY 

IS HERE 

AT HOGWARTS

“That’s fantastic, Hermione,” Remus said, putting all of his pride and affection for her in his tone of voice. She blushed and looked down at her plate.

“It was important at the time to stay low-key. That was the year Umbridge was our DADA professor,” she said quietly.

“I’m sorry anyone had to go through that,” Remus said.

“I’ll tell you right now we won’t be able to get Neville one of these sickles, but I still have the coin we’d been using. I can’t make myself go back. I feel horrible about it. Neville is probably half-starved by now,” Ginny said in an anguished voice.

“Half-starved?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide.

“He was living in the Room of Requirement by the time we left for Easter hols. The Carrews would have strung him up on sight, at that point. They knew he was one of the leaders of our resistance,” Ginny said.

“Poor Neville. I’m sure his grandmother was upset he didn’t come home,” Hermione said.

“He told me that it was his mum’s turn to have everyone come up to St. Mungo’s to be with his dad. They signed him out for Christmas,” Ginny said, taking a big bite of dinner roll.

“His mum? I thought she was at St. Mungo’s too? That’s what Sirius told me when I asked last month?” Hermione said, her voice rising a little bit as if she was emotional.

“Alice stays with Frank because it makes him happy,” Remus told Hermione, watching her reaction with curiosity. “She’s allowed to come and go. Her case isn’t as bad as his.”

Hermione’s face paled for a moment, and then turned bright red. He thought he could see tears forming in her eyes.

“So you’re saying his mother survived with some of her mind intact? Bellatrix didn’t curse them both into insensibility?” Hermione asked in a kind of gasping excitement. “I’m… I’m sorry. I, I think my time in the Department of Mysteries harmed my memory. I remembered both of Neville’s parents were-- And then I asked, and Sirius said they were both in St. Mungo’s, and I assumed--”

Hermione stopped talking and covered her face with both hands for a few seconds. Everyone at the table around him looked sympathetic but uncomfortable, and none of them were looking at Hermione anymore.

“Alice escaped from Bellatrix and got away. She brought Aurors to where they’d been held by the Lestranges, and they found Frank collapsed in a heap. His mind never recovered,” Remus said in as gentle a voice as he could manage. Frank and Alice were his friends, and it was only for the worry of their continued stay at St. Mungo’s that he hadn’t been able to visit them there in case they would be discharged if it were discovered that he was a werewolf. He hadn’t even known that they signed out for holidays until Ginny mentioned it. The thought that he could have been spending time with them through the decade or so he’d been struggling and friendless made his chest feel tight with regret.

Hermione lowered her hands to show her face wet with tears and a joyful smile. “Good for Neville, then. Thank you.”

She got up and nodded respectfully to Febronia. “Please excuse me.” Then, she left the table with her hand over her mouth. Hermione walked at a regular pace until she reached the stairs, but they all heard her run up both flights.

“Best not to tell her we could hear her run, the dear,” Febronia said with a sniff. “It’s not often we get to witness someone have a reaction like that.”

“Did she tell you what happened to her?” Ginny asked Remus.

He shook his head. “She won’t tell me. She even casts a dampening spell to block me from sensing her emotions during the full moon week.”

Remus wanted so badly to tell Ginny about the sacrificial spell Hermione had offered to cast, but it felt wrong, somehow. He didn’t know how close they were, despite the fact that Hermione’s best friend was Ginny’s brother. His heartbeat started to quicken as it usually did when he thought about how much time he had left to persuade Hermione not to sacrifice herself. If he had to fasten himself to her side in the coming battle, he would, but he knew how little she would appreciate that.

The conversation at the table soon turned to something different, and Remus ate in anxious silence, stewing on his dilemma about Hermione. Before he left the table, he thought he should grab the rest of the sickles. He was confused about there being one fewer than he expected until he realized: Hermione must have taken the one intended for Sirius.

Even that upset, she’d been thinking about someone else.

oOoOoOo

On a whim, Remus went upstairs and knocked on Hermione’s room door. He didn’t knock very hard, but the door creaked open from the force of it. After calling her name, he stepped in to make sure she wasn’t so upset she was having an episode of trouble breathing or something.

The room was empty. The small travel bag for her clothes was missing, too. 

Remus walked farther into the room, feeling like the snooping intruder he was, but unwilling to stop himself. On the desk in front of him was a large parchment with a list of names and checkmarks. Her name, his name, Ginny’s, and Febronia’s were at the top, each with check marks. Sirius was listed next, along with Hestia and Elphias. The word ‘pending’ was written beside Sirius’s name, and the word ‘created’ was next to the other two. There was a little line, and the title ‘second batch’ was written above a second group of names. This had the names Molly, Arthur, Bill, Fleur, Fred, George, Luna, Dean, Charlie, and Tonks. Each had the word ‘created’ next to them. Bill and Fleur’s names also had ‘pending.’

As Remus watched, though, the ‘pending’ changed to ‘delivered’ for both residents of Shell Cottage. He re-scanned the list and saw that Luna’s name was also now marked with ‘delivered.’

Remus sat down on the desk chair. The spellcraft involved in Hermione’s list was impressive in and of itself, but what had him stunned was that she had taken it on herself to deliver a second batch of the message sickles that very night. It spoke to him both about how caring she was, but also how imminent she probably believed their upcoming fight would be. He shook his head against that assumption. Her desire to warn her friends of the coming conflict was admirable in its own right.

New movement on her parchment had him re-checking the page. Sirius’s name was now marked ‘delivered,’ and as he watched, most of the other names also changed to display the same message. Logic told him that she’d given Bill Weasley a handful of coins to deliver to the Burrow.

He stood up to clear out of her room in case she returned shortly, but something she’d told him a few days before came to mind. She was brewing Polyjuice. Remus was willing to bet that the most intensive parts of that process were going to happen tonight and tomorrow. He hovered his hand over the large parchment he’d been watching. He really wanted to see what was underneath it, but he shook his head and walked out of her room. Remus carefully closed her door behind him and stood with one hand on the doorknob for a few seconds.

The maturity and thoughtfulness Hermione had displayed over the past few days had his heart spinning. It was like she was systematically dismantling all of his objections to the idea of a possible relationship with her. She had told Febronia that she was in love with someone, though. Remus sighed and went to his own room and shut the door. Was it too much to hope that she had feelings for him? That she was perceptive enough to guess his misgivings and simply assumed they were unsurmountable?

“That’s far too fast. You’re leaping off your broom for a Snitch far out of reach,” Remus said aloud.

He studiously ignored how quickly he’d fallen for Iraja, in the past. That had been a unique and special experience. It wasn’t comparable to this one.

oOoOoOo

The next day, Remus spent the morning tracking down the last few Order members that would need to be warned about the imminent attack at Hogwarts. He then spent hours carefully scouting the locations of werewolf camps under Fenrir’s command, to be certain that his letters from Nik were accurate.

They were. All of the camps were empty; they showed signs of having been cleared in haste, and he gathered up a few magical objects that would be dangerous to any Muggles that might run across the now unwarded campsites. By the time he Apparated back to the boarding house it was dark, and he’d missed dinner.

“You look like you’ve been dragged around by an angry hippogriff!” Febronia said when he appeared in the foyer. She’d clearly heard the sound of his Apparition and come to see who it was.

“Febronia, I feel like it,” Remus said.

“Call me Febie, please,” she said, clutching her arms around herself nervously. “Let me warm something up for you.”

“If you have bread I can just do up a sandwich out of it? I don’t want to make trouble,” he told her, running a hand through his hair. He wished he could put her at ease. She was a kindly old lady who didn’t need to feel so afraid of him, but Remus knew that prejudices were hard habits to break.

“It’s a hearty stew, so I’ll just get you a bowl of it,” she laughed.

“Thank you, Febie.”

He fell asleep with his head pillowed on his arms at the table, which he discovered to his shame when Febie woke him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. When he started awake, he found her standing beside him, the bowl of soup set out of his arm’s reach.

Remus felt so guilty that he’d made her touch him, even if it was by accident on his part and a kindness on hers.

“Ordinarily I would have let you sleep, but I doubt you ate enough lunch today given the looks of you,” Febie told him.

“You’re right,” he smiled wryly. “I’m sorry to put you in that position.”

Febie set his bowl down by hand. He remembered that she struggled with levitation charms, and realized she’d had to carry it from the kitchen. Remus opened his mouth to apologize again, and she held up one finger.

“Don’t you dare. I’m perfectly capable of carrying a bowl, Remus Lupin.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said with as much contrition as he could manage.

Febie pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, thank you for that. My husband used to act the same way when I chastised him.” She shook her head. “Would you like me to get a book for you?”

He did enjoy reading while he ate if he was alone. Sending his elderly host upstairs to hunt down a book for him seemed like the height of rudeness, though, so he demurred. 

“Honestly, Febie, I would be rude company tonight. You can go back to your tea with a clear conscience.”

“All right,” she said. “Good night, then.”

oOoOoOo

The next morning, Remus visited Potter House to see whether Sirius was ready to go through with being Bellatrix Lestrange for the Gringotts raiding party.

He was. He absolutely was.

“I’m going full fake Moody,” Sirius told him, showing him the gothic flask in the shape of a thick mirror. It had a hook to hang it from something, and the dress Sirius planned to use to dress as Bellatrix came complete with a black leather belt.

“I’m sure she’ll have brewed a long-lasting version, but that’s still a good choice,” Remus told him. “Don’t forget the shoes.”

“Merlin’s beard, I would have completely forgotten!” Sirius swore.

oOoOoOo

That afternoon, Harry, Ron, and Griphook came from Shell Cottage to collect their Bellatrix and have Hermione disguise Ron as her Italian interpreter, Philo Sermo. The ginger-haired, meek wizard was the replacement for her previous interpreter, Gaspar Smythe, who was killed by Voldemort. Reportedly, Smythe had conveyed an insolent message from Bellatrix and was slain with the killing curse immediately afterwards.

Ron was mid-disguise when there was an unearthly shriek from upstairs.

“Sounds like Polyjuice doesn’t incorporate curse damage,” Harry said with a grim look.

A string of curses in a feminine voice of extreme anger followed. A thought occurred to Remus.

“I didn’t think about how he’d fare trying to figure out the clothing,” he said.

Hermione finished up her disguise, based on an article in the  _ Daily Prophet. _ With a trembling sort of sigh, she started for the stairs. Fifteen minutes later, she came back, her face pale and her body language a case study in fear. Remus walked over to her and instinctively reached out. She didn’t hesitate, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his chest.

“I forgot how afraid I was of her,” she groaned. “Knowing she’s really Sirius didn’t really help.” 

She was shaking. Remus cast a mild wandless spell of calming over her, petting her hair and back with one hand. Ron and Harry were staring at the doorway instead of Hermione, which Remus was grateful for, given how extreme her reaction was. They liked to tease, and that was the last thing he imagined she needed in that moment. Then, Remus looked at the doorway.

Sirius-Bellatrix was insolently leaning on the wall, a frown of distaste on her face.

“That was the most disgusting tasting thing I’ve ever had, and I drank--”

“Don’t say it!” Remus interrupted, knowing what he was going to say. “They’re still young and innocent.”

Still pressed against him, Hermione giggled. She pulled away and mouthed a thank you, to which Remus nodded.

“You’re going to have to hex me. I can’t stay quiet,” Sirius told Harry. He opened his mouth to elaborate, but Harry already had his wand out and was casting. Everyone laughed at the speed at which he hexed the voice out of fake Bellatrix.

“This article says that despite being Italian, Philo speaks with no noticeable accent, and in a very shy, quiet voice. That’s perfect for you, Ron,” Hermione said, stepping forward and facing Ron, which meant that Sirius was behind her. Remus smiled at her ingenuity.

“So like this?” Ron asked in a quiet, uncertain voice.

“Perfect,” Hermione judged. “So you go into the bank, firmly request access to her vault, and if they hesitate, just act afraid that she’ll retaliate against you. It won’t cause the goblins to pity you--”

“Correct,” Griphook interrupted.

“--but it would be more authentic, I think. Harry, are you  _ sure _ you’re willing to go under the Cloak? You might have to cast--”

“I’m sure,” Harry interrupted. “This is too important to worry about that.”

“Well, that’s it then,” Hermione said. She stepped closer to Remus. “Do you have anything to add?” she asked him.

“Don’t forget your feet,” he told Harry. “When I used to hide under the Cloak, I had to huddle down, but I’m taller than you are. Never forget what might be showing. Gringotts is a much more serious place than hiding under it at Hogwarts.”

He pushed back thoughts of sneaking into the Hospital Ward to see Iraja, but found that the memory wasn’t as painful as he would have thought. 

Sirius made an imperious gesture at Ron, who immediately said, “She wishes to depart, sirs,” in such a downtrodden, miserable voice that everyone laughed, even Sirius.

Hermione hugged all three of their friends and wished them well. She stood in front of Griphook and nodded respectfully. He nodded back, and the Gringotts party left Potter Manor.

“I hope that hex doesn’t wear off at an inopportune moment,” Remus said worriedly.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Hermione said in amusement. “If I know Harry, he’ll take every opportunity to refresh it.”

oOoOoOo

With Hermione in the library to refresh the books she wanted with her at the boarding house, Remus went to gather up more socks. He always forgot to pack them when leaving on trips, always. He jogged down the stairs to check whether Hermione had left yet and found her waiting for him at the bottom.

“I don’t feel like being alone, aside from being in the library,” she said when she saw him. “Would you Side-Along with me? Or is that presumptuous?”

“Not at all,” Remus said immediately. He tucked the socks into two different pockets and held out his arm. Hermione’s lone eyebrow raise at the sight of the socks sticking out at odd angles made them both laugh as he Apparated them to the boarding house.

“You could come up and set those in your room while I put these in mine?” he offered.

“All right,” Hermione said. After they’d walked up the flights of stairs in silence, she paused outside his door. Before he opened it, she said, “It’s been very kind of you not to press me about what happened. I’m sure my sudden fear of Bellatrix is confusing.”

Instead of opening his door, Remus leaned on it and looked down at her. “What’s important is that you feel comfortable and listened to.” Then he smiled, and added, “I’m spending all my friendship capital on pressing you to stay alive, anyway.”

Without waiting for her reaction, he opened the door behind him and pretended to topple into the room.

“Remus!” Hermione said, rushing over. She leaned over to help him up.

“Sirius falls for that  _ every time.” _

Hermione dropped his arm and he lost his balance and sat down, hard.

“Argh! I swear you two are the only ones who ever provoke me to contemplating violence! I hardly ever hit Harry or Ron!” Hermione griped. When she stood up straight to yell at him, an object on a chain fell out of her shirt, and he caught a glimpse of a light blue stone before she caught it in her hand with a decidedly guilty look on her face. Her anger had completely dissipated in favor of it.

She was picking up her books that she’d left in a pile by the door.

“It wouldn’t have been the first book you’d hurled at my face,” Remus said from the floor.

Hermione started laughing despite her obvious conflicted emotions. She rested her head on the doorframe and looked over at him with frustrated amusement.

“I don’t know if I love or hate that I can’t stay angry with you,” she said. Her gaze was affectionate, and his heart skipped a beat to see it.

“Definitely love it,” he murmured, tracing his eyes over the slight blush in her cheeks, and the way her hair lay in a tangled glory of curls across her shoulders. He was allowing her to see a glimpse of how he felt in his expression, he knew, but he was unwilling to stop himself in that moment.

After a heady few seconds of this, a haunted look passed over her face, and she said, “I wish I could believe you mean that.” She whipped her wand out of her pocket and levitated her books in an inexpert, emotional lurch, and turned away toward her room.

Remus scrambled to his feet. He rushed out of his door and down the hallway, but her door was already shut. Something told him she would have already warded it, and so he made himself slow down and think. He walked to his room and tore a length of parchment off, writing a short note on it.

Then, he walked back to her room, slid the note under Hermione’s door, and went downstairs to do what he’d promised.

It wasn’t until he’d set foot on the first step down that the page was pulled all the way through into her room.

oOoOoOo

It took Remus a little bit of time to find Febie. She was sitting and reading in a small side room off of the dining room flooded with the light of the sunset. When he tapped his knuckles on the open door, she looked up and smiled when she saw him.

“Hermione both doesn’t want to be alone, and has locked herself in her room in utter despondence,” Remus told Febie. “I sent her a note under the door saying that I’d ask you to make us evening tea while we wait for news from Harry and the others.”

Febie put a thin sheet of parchment into her book to mark the place and stood up. “Well, go on, then. Ask?” she said in a shaky, amused voice.

“Please will you make us tea and biscuits?” Remus asked humbly.

“Yes, of course,” she told him. He moved aside for her and followed behind as she made her way into the kitchen, mumbling to herself. He heard her say, “I never expected to meddle so much in these things, but I should know nothing ever goes quite to plan!” 

It turned out Febie had been holding out on them. She had scones and chocolate-dipped biscuits, sourdough and jam-filled biscuits, as well as a variety of spiced tea, all of which she laid out on the low table in the receiving room. Remus helped her carry it all out by hand rather than feel as though he were taunting her with his youthful ability to levitate things without concern. He allowed himself one single chocolate biscuit as he waited for Hermione to hopefully come down as he’d asked her to in his letter.

Febie had gone into the kitchen to refresh the kettle to hot by the time Remus heard footsteps on the stairs. He got up to greet her.

She looked determined and fragile. Her hair was in a braid, she’d changed into jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel overtop, and her face looked scrubbed clean. As he watched her walk down the last few stairs, a horrible thought occurred to him: that he was too late. She was dressed for battle.

“You think it’s tonight!” he blurted out, shocked.

Hermione paused on the last step and bit her lip. “I think it  _ might _ be, yes, but--”

“Both of you come in here and eat something before your insecurities set the whole building on fire!” Febie called out to them from the receiving room.

After everyone had some small talk and biscuits with tea in their system, Remus started to relax, and saw that Hermione had, too. 

“So, Febronia, where did you come from before this? I mean, what brought you to the Order? What did you do before that?” Hermione asked, sipping from her tea.

Febie sat and thought about the question for a long time. To her credit, Hermione simply waited instead of seeking to change the subject. Finally, Febie nodded and set down her cup.

“My best friend lived a troubled life for a long time. He didn’t fulfill what he saw as his reason for living, and it haunted him. He let himself be taken over by the Dark Arts in an attempt to change the outcome, to destroy that which he saw as the part of himself that caused all of his problems,” Febie said in a grave, sad voice. “When I saw him last, he was a shell of himself. He told me he wished he could go back and fix everything, but he was too compromised to do it. I of course couldn’t do it for him, so I’m doing the next best thing: helping keep this generation of students and heroes from suffering the same fate.”

It was barely a graze over the surface of whatever story Febronia was telling them, but it felt profound enough to Remus. He wondered if she was talking about the fight against Grindelwald, but decided not to ask. 

“Do your calculations tell you that the conflict is soon? As soon as tonight?” Hermione asked Febronia.

She simply nodded. When she saw that Hermione didn’t seem surprised, Febie asked, “Why do  _ you _ think it will be tonight?”

“The object Harry went to retrieve is tied to our enemy. We’ve destroyed a few such objects already, and I think he’ll be able to sense this one.” She lifted her chin. “I could tell myself I stayed behind to be ready when they returned, but that’s crap. I couldn’t make myself go.”

“Being afraid doesn’t negate the ability to make good choices. Would you have been effective had you gone?” Febronia asked. Her voice sounded more clear than it usually did, and Remus felt like she’d pushed her voice on purpose for effect.

“No,” Hermione admitted. Remus felt like he needed to ease the self-recrimination he could see she was feeling.

“Hermione, I’ve had to think about that a lot recently. Ron told me that Peter was at the Manor when he was tortured, and he was killed for defying orders,” he said, careful to avoid saying whose orders. “He spent  _ years _ being afraid. It was that fear of his new master which caused him to betray Harry’s parents, I think. I know you’re intelligent enough to know the difference between discernment and poor choices borne of terror.”

“A bit manipulative to make a comparison to such a personal subject, don’t you think?” Hermione challenged.

“Is it?” he shot back, not unkindly. “Harry is your best friend, as Peter was mine. Your fear led you to choose not to hurt him by going. Peter’s fear led him to choose to save his own skin and betray his friends. Just because your choice kept you and Harry both out of danger doesn’t mean they’re comparable in their reasoning.”

Hermione sat in silence for a few minutes. “Thank you,” she finally said, breathing the words out as though in great relief. “All night last night I kept thinking of all of the reasons to send Sirius instead-- he’s known Bellatrix longer, he has had practice being rich and careless, he’s been so miserable without a larger role in helping Harry, all of it. I felt like they were all excuses. Then today when I saw him after the potion…”

Febie broke into Hermione’s hesitant pause like a bludger. “What you should have done is recognize you’d made the right decision. But you’ve had your decisions questioned a lot lately, haven’t you-- by yourself and others?” Remus sat up straight, feeling like he needed to defend his own behavior, but Febie held up a hand in his direction. “That doesn’t follow that you shouldn’t be questioned, just that it causes doubt, which is natural.” Febronia brought both her hands together, palm to palm, and pointed them at Hermione. “Your job is to always ask, ‘how best can I help my friends without losing myself?’” One of her hands left the other and pointed to Remus, but Febronia kept her gaze on Hermione. “That was Peter’s mistake. He left himself out. Don’t do that. When you do that, you end up hurting everyone.”

It was only then that Remus realized he’d never told Febronia the whole story about Sirius’s innocence and Peter’s deception. She clearly knew the story, so he imagined that Minerva must have explained it to her. 

Febronia’s assessment was a revelation to him. He could never figure out what had happened with Peter to so thoroughly throw his lot in with someone like Voldemort. Now, he could see it as clearly as if he had done it himself. Peter felt diminished by being friends with such strong personalities like Sirius and James. He wanted to do something notable. Could he have initially gone as a spy? Kept not enough of himself back, and become stuck? His choice of a rat animagus had always been about finding the best way to hide, to keep himself safe. How awful for Peter that he’d chosen the exact wrong time to expose himself, then! To be trapped into making choices that kept himself alive at the price of everything and everyone else he cared about. The realization didn’t make him think differently about Peter, but it did help him understand the incomprehensible.

Remus knew he would never have made the choice Peter had. He’d have died, sacrificed himself, instead.

He gasped.

Just like Hermione had said she would do.

“What is it?” he asked Hermione in a half-whisper. “What is the other choice, the one you are turning away from with the decision to cast that spell?”

Before she could react to his question, the shriek of Hogsmeade’s intruder alarm went off. For once, Remus wanted to ignore the sound instead of checking to see who it was, but then a second, recognizable sound echoed from the street outside.

Padfoot’s bark.


	12. Pest Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Hogwarts begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve created a passageway to suit my needs for the story. We can just assume that something about Hermione appearing in the past caused a difference between our knowledge of passageways and the alternate universe she created!

###  Chapter Twelve: Pest Control

By the time Remus got to the receiving room window, all he saw was a black dog beside two figures heading into the Hog’s Head Inn. He heard the sound of two wizards Apparating into the town, and recognized them as the enforcers of the curfew. He hoped that Aberforth or whoever was currently in charge at the Inn would move quickly to hide Harry. If he didn’t, then Remus, everyone at the boarding house, and whoever he could get to come as soon as possible would have to fight to get him freed. 

The first two were only the beginning, though. The crack of Apparition echoed multiple times as more dark witches and wizards appeared in response to the Caterwauling Charm.

Then, he heard the front door open and Febie’s voice calling out. “Come back you huge overgrown mutt! Whose house are you going into now!”

The voices of the first two enforcers were louder now, and they’d refocused onto Febronia, he was sure. The huge black dog reappeared, running towards the front of the house.

“Oi!” one of the black-clad wizards shouted. 

Remus ran from the window towards the front porch. He heard Febronia cast a shield charm. When he got close, though, he saw that she had placed some sort of barrier on the doorway from the receiving room to the foyer. He didn’t try to cross it and neither did Hermione. He assumed Febie was keeping everyone safe by keeping them out of sight.

“I don’t understand why you would attack him, he’s my only protection, I live alone!” Febronia’s voice was querulous. “You’ve driven all of my business away!

After a few more shouted commands that were met with whiny indignation from Febie, the guards moved on. The angry echo of the boarding house door slamming was amplified by a charm, Remus was completely certain. He could hear the sound of arguing outside, and while their immediate danger seemed to be over, the sharp tang of fear put him on edge.

Febronia’s magical barrier went down at the same time that Remus saw Padfoot round the corner toward him, running on all fours. By the time he reached Remus, though, Sirius had shifted back into his human form. He rested a hand on either of Remus’s shoulders, nodding to Hermione behind him.

“He’s coming. He knows what we stole and what we’re going to do with it.”

oOoOoOo

Sirius’s story about what happened at Gringotts seemed so outrageous that Remus didn’t want to believe him at first. While Hermione activated her coin messages and Febronia went up to get Ginny, Hestia, and Elphias, Sirius told Remus what Harry planned to do next. 

“He’s got to find the diadem, Ravenclaw’s diadem, he says. As soon as he touched Hufflepuff’s cup, he got a vision of what Lord Git was up to,” Sirius told him. “Mad as Merlin, Harry said he was, and immediately worried about his other pieces: that snake of his, and the diadem at Hogwarts, like Harry had thought. Basilisk venom destroys them, so they’re going to grab some teeth in the Chamber of Secrets.”

“As one does,” Remus murmured. He saw Ginny come down the stairs and hand Hermione a coin. Immediately, Hermione touched her wand to it, clearly sending a message to Harry.

He took out his own wand to send a message to Minerva, then paused. Usually he conjured his Patronus with the thought of Iraja telling him she couldn’t stop herself from loving him, that night in the Hospital Wing. That joy from that moment wasn’t diminished, per se, but it was more distant than it normally would be. Replacing it was the image of Hermione, practically spitting in fury, telling him that he should have been treated more fairly by the adults of his acquaintance. Mixed with that was the rush he felt when she’d grabbed him by his lapels and kissed him fiercely.

“You all right?” Hermione asked, coming over to him.

Remus felt a rush of certainty. She may have told Febronia that she was in love with someone, but she didn’t feel  _ nothing _ for him. Maybe it was enough to keep her moored to this world. He lifted his wand and cast his Patronus.

Beside him, Hermione gasped. “Your bird Patronus is beautiful!”

Remus relayed his message for Minerva and sent his Patronus on her way. “It’s a kingfisher. In Greek Mythology, Alcyone is the daughter of the God of Wind, Aeolus, and the kingfisher is the form she takes. I’ve felt an affinity for them for years.”

Hermione was staring at him. “Alcyone is the wind’s daughter!” she said, as if the phrase meant something to her. 

All of the sound in the room faded away. Somehow he could hear his own breathing and nothing else. “How do you know that phrase?” he asked Hermione in a hushed voice.

She was wiping her eyes and shaking her head at him. “Oh, Remus. I wish I could believe--”

“We should get moving,” Sirius urged them. 

Everything that Remus had tuned out came back in full color-- the crisis, the coming battle, the need to focus on strategy. He reached out and cupped Hermione’s face with one hand, heedless of where they were or who could see them. He was out of time to persuade her to stay alive with or without him, but he hoped what he’d already said and done was enough.

“Stay with me, please; if not in body, in mind?” he asked her, simply.

Hermione turned her face into his hand and kissed it. As an answer, it wasn’t much. As a promise, it was  _ everything. _

“We shouldn’t go with the assumption that we can get into the castle. Letting us in will just let in the Death Eaters,” Febronia said sensibly. “We should let the buggers gather up and then hit them from behind with a surprise attack.” She looked worried but fierce, ruthlessly braiding her white curly hair into a tight braid and pinning it to her head, out of the way of any wand-waving. Behind her, Remus saw Hestia and Elphias walk down the stairs and make their way towards them.

“Your coin goes both ways, correct? And Patronus messages work at Hogwarts?” Remus asked Hermione. She nodded, her own hands busily pulling her hair back in a manner similar to Febie’s. “I say we Apparate to the Shack and gather there. Hermione’s message to warn the other Order members will disseminate down through the ranks and they’ll be arriving to help. Harry can communicate with us in at least a limited way, and we can work to keep everyone who shows up to stop him off of his back.”

The group of them were standing in a tight circle, and Remus made quick eye contact with each of them. Everyone seemed to agree, so he nodded decisively and stepped back. Elphias was the first to Apparate out, followed quickly by Hestia.

“Ginny?” Sirius asked, holding out his arm. She nodded, and Sirius Apparated the two of them on a countdown from three.

“I know you’ve been there at least once by yourself,” Remus said to Hermione, his gaze warm and appreciative. “Thank you for that.”

Hermione gave him a wry little smile and Apparated away with a crack. In the second before she disappeared, Remus realized that every time Hermione had been in the Shrieking Shack, it had been either with him or to help him. It was a strange but welcome rehabilitation of a space he’d both dreaded and loved throughout his life.

Febronia was the only one besides Remus who had yet to Apparate to their meeting point. Febronia, who didn’t know how to get to the Shack and seemed to be afraid of werewolves. He didn’t want to shame her by sending his Patronus to bring Hermione back, but he could see that the old witch was already nervous. She was whispering to herself, clutching at something on a chain around her neck.

“Seems different, but is it a  _ good _ different, that’s the question!”

“Febie, I’m sorry. I know you’d rather not, but I should Side-Along you,” Remus said, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.

She looked up at him in surprise. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked, her voice shaky and uncertain.

“You seem… a bit afraid of me. You’ve done well hiding it, and I understand that werewolves are--”

“Oh, you sweet dear thing!” Febie interrupted, laughing. “I… yes, I can see that-- But, no. And yes, you should Apparate me, I haven’t ever been to this shack of yours, have I?”

Remus couldn’t make sense of what she’d said except for the part where Febie seemed to think the idea that she’d be afraid of him preposterous. He approached her slowly, angling his arm out for her to take.

Despite what she’d said, Febronia took a deep breath to steady herself before she tentatively tucked her veiny hand into the crook of his arm. She felt so insecurely tethered to him that Remus rested his hand on hers at the very last minute. Febronia sucked in a shocked breath right as he Apparated them to the Shrieking Shack. 

_ So much for not being afraid of me! _ he thought to himself.

Kingsley was already there, and shortly after Remus and Febie appeared, Arthur Apparated in. He saw Ginny and reached out a grateful hand to squeeze hers for a few seconds.

“Ron?” he asked then, his eyebrows raised.

“Safe for now, in the school, searching for the basilisk, as far as I know,” Sirius answered as he walked over. Everyone turned to look at him, and he held up both hands placatingly. “The  _ corpse _ of the basilisk, I promise.”

“You are not good for my blood pressure,” Arthur told him, clasping Sirius on his shoulder and shaking his head. “Remus?”

“The Death Eaters are mobilizing in Hogsmeade, or were when we left, and they’ll be on their way soon. Ginny and Hermione have limited communications with Harry, who is looking to destroy something that will weaken our adversary,” Remus told him. 

“Hence the basilisk,” Kingsley said, coming over. “I suggest we leave this room, since it is where most will Apparate in. We should also send a few to the exit by the Willow. We’ll want to know when they start a frontal assault to enter the school.”

“Harry expects it will be soon,” Hermione said, holding up the larger coin. Remus could read the message clearly, and the anxiety in her eyes told him she was worried about her best friend.

HE KNOWS 

HE’ll

BE COMING

“Arthur, can you coordinate the new arrivals? Remus, with me,” Kingsley said, starting down toward the basement of the Shack. “Send someone down with any news, and we’ll do the same,” he said over his shoulder.

Remus saw Arthur nodding. “I’ll be right behind you,” he told the auror. “Hermione?” he said.

“I should stay here,” she said, her expression conflicted. “Oh!” she jumped in surprise, looking at the coin again. She held it up.

CUP DONE

HOGWARTS

ARMED

“What could that last bit mean?” Ginny wondered.

“Do you think all of those suits of armor are there purely for decoration, dear?” Febronia said. She walked over toward where Remus and Kingsley were poised to head into the passageway to the school. “I’m not fast at dueling anymore, but I can definitely knock down any Death Eater stupid enough to use a broom to breach the walls!” 

As though a thought occurred to her, Febie stopped short of brushing past him to go toward the basement tunnel. She seemed to be scanning the faces of the Order members who were filtering down from the main room they’d Apparated into. Her face lit up and she made her way through the group until she found the person she’d been looking for. Without saying anything, she hooked her arm around his elbow and started dragging him along with her.

“Uh, help?” Fred Weasley said, his eyebrows arching skyward.

“Yes, help! I need help, and you’re going to help me, young man,” Febronia declared determinedly. Remus stepped aside, as did Kingsley, and the room was silent but for the sound of the two arguing, one young voice against one old as they walked out of earshot.

“Can anyone…” George’s voice trailed off as he looked from face to face for an explanation.

“I think she’s planning to knock Death Eaters off of their brooms should they use them to try to land on the roof?” Remus said, shaking his head at how outrageous the phrase sounded.

“Oh,  _ brilliant. _ They’ll want a bodyguard,” George declared. He ran after his brother, the pounding steps of his passage growing quieter with distance.

“Ironically, I think he knows more about the plan than Fred does, at this point,” Ginny said, laughing.

The sound of running got louder again, closer and closer until a shout echoed up from the basement. “Loads of Death Eaters!”

“We’re coming!” Kingsley shouted back. “Shall we?” he said, throwing the cloak he was wearing out of the way as he pulled out his wand. Remus nodded to him and followed closely behind, his own wand at the ready.

A chorus of various cries of agreement sounded behind them, and the Order of the Phoenix started on its way to defend Hogwarts.

oOoOoOo

Outside was already in chaos. The majority of the Death Eaters were attacking the front doors, and since most of the Order headed that way, Remus decided to attack the few lone figures trying to break in at other places.

Far to his left, he heard a cackle and a sizzle of magical lightning. He turned his head and watched a Death Eater on a broom spinning out of control toward the lake, chased by another bolt of lightning. The sound of both Weasley twins cheering Febronia on gave Remus a jolt of pride. He cast spells expertly to incapacitate and bind a Death Eater who had managed to break one of the large windows on their side of the castle. When he approached his opponent, he was shocked to see it was one of the Slytherin seventh years from his tenure as the DADA professor.

A mixture of angry voices and cheers echoed from the front doors. He ran that way to find that a shield was lifting away from the doors, which were untouched. The school was surrounding itself with a bubble of protection much like a Protego charm, and the attacks from the Death Eaters who weren’t already dueling with defenders were bouncing off with little to no effect.

“Remus!” It was Hermione. She ran from the back of the group, her wand in her hand. “Some former students were able to appear inside the castle,” she told him, out of breath. “Harry thinks You Know Who might be able to appear inside, too. Can you get us in? I don’t want to be stuck out here if Harry is right!”

Remus pictured the building and overlaid it with his memory of the Marauder’s Map. “Yes, this way,” he told her. Before he turned to walk off back toward where Fred, George, and Febie were, he saw Bill, Fleur, and Kingsley break away from the larger group and toward them. Bill was dragging a reluctant-looking Ginny with them.

“We need to get inside to coordinate better than with coins. I’ve watched three different Patronuses blasted away in as many minutes!” Kingsley shouted across the expanse between them.

“The shield is enlarging itself. We’ll have to hurry. Follow me, then,” Remus said. He reached for Hermione’s hand, dislodging whatever she was holding, which swung free from her hand to hang back around her neck from its long chain. He didn’t have time to see what it was, but his sense of foreboding was lessened with her so close to him. Remus hoped that was the case for her, too. He hadn’t missed that she often clutched whatever it was in her hand when she was upset. He wondered if it was something given to her from Febronia, who seemed to have a similar habit.

If Hermione was still planning to sacrifice herself, she’d have to take him with her or stop casting, Remus decided.

When they got to the base of the hidden passage without coming across anyone else, Remus stopped, earning himself a quizzical look from Hermione. He held up a finger and addressed the others who had followed them.

“Through here, you’ll come to a split. Take the left fork, up the stairs, and you’ll come out behind a tapestry near the Hufflepuff common room,” he directed them. To Hermione, he said, “I didn’t see the twins or Febie.”

“Did Harry ever tell you where he got the Marauder’s Map from?” Hermione asked him.

“No,” Remus said, confused.

“The twins stole it from Filch’s office. Most likely Febie’s been inside the castle for longer than any one of us!” she said, laughing. Then, Hermione ducked down to start into the passageway toward the school. She stopped and turned back to see if he was coming, and then fiddled with the chain around her neck.

“What is that? I see you holding it, when you’re upset.”

Hermione didn’t answer for a long time, but Remus just waited, holding his wand up for light to guide their path. Finally, she said, “It’s a talisman of sorts. I’ll show it to you if we make it through this, okay?”

“Does that mean you intend to make it through this?” Remus asked, trying not to sound reproachful.

Hermione pointed ahead of them. “I can see the tapestry, I think?” 

They climbed over some debris that looked to be contraband tossed through the tapestry hole by students over the years. Before she stepped through the space out into the school, Hermione turned toward him. Her body was lit from behind by the hallway illumination seeping around the edges of the wall hanging, and the dust particles floated around her head like a halo. 

“Do I intend to make it through this battle? That depends on why you’re asking,” she said, her eyebrows furrowed as if she were in pain. “I’d rather sacrifice myself for the sake of a colleague than live beside him, alone and longing.”

“So would I,” Remus gasped out, stunned and elated. “I didn’t dare to hope--”

“I didn’t dare to presume!” she interrupted, her eyes wide, one hand over her mouth. “I expected you to tell me that what I was feeling was just a crush.”

“If what I’m feeling is a crush, I think anything more intense would kill me,” Remus said, meeting her eyes and feeling transfixed by her reaction to his words. She’d looked at first uncertain when she’d spoken, but then joy transformed that expression into pure happiness. There was no mistaking her reaction-- she felt the same way as he did.

Remus was taller than the passageway, and when he stepped forward to take her in his arms, he stumbled, having forgotten to look at where he should place his feet. Hermione caught him, dropping her wand to bear him up in both arms with the strength of an avenging angel. She kissed him before he had fully gotten his balance, and their bodies listed to the side, coming to rest against the stone wall.

It wasn’t a long kiss, but it meant more to him than any vocal promise she could have made. When she pulled back, Hermione’s smile reached her eyes, something he hadn’t seen since she’d left with Ron and Harry to search for the Horcruxes. She brushed the bits of cobweb from his hair and every brush of her fingers was full of affection.

“How is it that you have nothing stuck to  _ your _ hair?” he whispered to her, incredulous.

“I’m shorter than you!” Hermione pointed out, laughing. She bent down to pick up her wand.

Remus frowned, opening his mouth to say something about her dropping it to catch him.

“I’m perfectly capable of casting a wandless summoning charm, Remus Lupin, and even if I wasn’t, you are more important to me than magic!” she snapped. Remus almost couldn’t breathe, he was so surprised. Hermione seemed every bit as shocked, until she shook her head, seemingly at herself. “I’m not sure I knew that to be true until just now!”

Before Remus could respond to that, there was a loud sound of breaking glass accompanying an odd rush of air that didn’t feel purely related to physics. He made eye contact with Hermione. She reached out her hand, he took it, and they pushed out through the tapestry and into the hallway.

The sound of crying nearby led them to a small boy dressed in Hufflepuff robes, huddled beside a suit of armor whose shield was outstretched as if protecting the child.

On a hunch, Remus tucked his wand into his sleeve and addressed the armor. “I’m a former professor, I mean him no harm.” The armor didn’t react, but it also didn’t prevent him from crouching down next to the boy.

“I’m supposed to evacuate but I  _ had _ to grab Vincent! The bad guy has a snake. Snakes  _ eat _ toads!” the boy sobbed, opening his hands to reveal a small toad tolerating its master’s tight grip with unnatural grace.

“Do you know where you’re supposed to go?” Remus asked gently.

“Through a portrait down into Hogsmeade, Professor McGonagall said. Seventh floor? Room of, of… Choir something?”

“Requirement!” Hermione said. “I know where that is, will you come with us?” she asked, keeping her distance from Remus, the student, and the child’s armor guardian. 

“I can carry you, if you’re worried about keeping up,” Remus offered, seeing the fear and doubt on the boy’s face. At his words, the child nodded, and Remus took that as encouragement enough to pick him up. He started after Hermione, and a creaking metal sound behind him had the three of them turning their heads in surprise.

The suit of armor was coming with them.

“I named him George,” the Hufflepuff student said with innocent confidence. “Snakes are  _ really _ similar to dragons, you know.”

oOoOoOo

Professors Flitwick and Sprout along with Madame Pomfrey and the Weasley twins were still evacuating students through the Room of Requirement when Remus, Hermione, and their Hufflepuff charge got to the seventh floor. Remus said goodbye and watched the boy exit the school to safety before he walked over towards where Minerva was speaking with Kingsley, Bill, Fleur, and Febronia.

Hermione broke away to take his arm and whisper in his ear. “The breaking glass we heard was Professor Snape!” she said to him in shock. “The other professors challenged his authority and he left.”

“It felt like the whole school expelled him,” he whispered back. “Did you feel it too?” She nodded, and he squeezed her hand where she was holding onto him. They joined the conversation in progress.

“--in the Great Hall. The others are making their way in as the students leave,” Kingsley was saying.

“Last we heard from Ginny’s coin was that Harry and Ron are searching for the next artifact,” Bill said.

“I spent some time trying to track it down myself,” Minerva told them. “I believe I got close, but its guardian didn’t trust me enough to say for sure,” she said cryptically. “It’s possible that Harry could get farther than I did. Excuse me.”

Minerva stepped away from them and he saw her conjure her Patronus and speak a message before it sped off. 

“The safest place to hide anything at Hogwarts is the Room of Requirement, it seems,” Febronia observed. “We should speed up the evacuation. With the need for safety so strong, there’s no energy left for the need for concealment, wouldn’t you think?” These words were spoken with the air of someone in on a secret, and after she spoke them, Febronia started herding the last few students toward the the makeshift exit. After what Minerva had said about the guardian of the object Harry was in search of, Remus assumed that it would need to be Harry who activated the Room next. He hoped Minerva’s Patronus wouldn’t be destroyed before Harry got her message.

Soon, everyone who remained was hurrying down to the Great Hall. Remus lost sight of Hermione for a few seconds in the group, but saw her again with Febronia after they’d all made it into the Hall. All around him were familiar faces, including Percy Weasley, who seemed to be reconciling with his family.

Suddenly, a voice amplified by magic sounded in the cavernous space, and the tone and derision with which the words were spoken made Remus’s heart practically stop beating. After the first sentence, he started walking over to Hermione, who had been standing next to Fleur watching Percy’s reintroduction to the Weasleys. As soon as his hand touched her shoulder, she turned and buried her face in his chest, as if she’d known it had to have been him and only him who would seek to touch her in that awful moment.

It was cold comfort.

__

> _  
>  "I know that you are preparing to fight. Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter, and they shall not be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight."  
>  _

Everyone looked at each other in horror. Harry Potter was nowhere to be found. A low-level murmur went through the crowd, and then the double doors to the Great Hall were thrown open by a surge of magic.

A hundred wands were brandished at the doorway.

“It’s me,” Harry said, rather anticlimactically. Ron came up behind him a second later and waved.

Febronia’s concerned muttering was nearly drowned out by the collective sigh of relief from the Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors throughout the room.

“Out of order. It’s out of order, but is that good, or bad?” Febronia said, pushing past him toward Harry. She wasn’t the only one. Soon Harry was surrounded by a crowd of students, all telling him what had happened while he was missing.

“We’re not giving you up,” Angelina Johnson said loudly. “In case you wondered.”

From behind Harry, a small boy in Gryffindor robes ran over and tried to tell Harry something, but he kept getting jostled away. The Order members in the room were in a huddle near Remus planning their defense, but Remus kept looking over at the boy. His urgency seemed to be different than the glad relief of the other students, and finally, Remus patted Hermione on the shoulder to let her know he would be right back.

It didn’t take much time to get the boy away from the others. Remus had to kneel down to hear what he had to say in his breath-starved, hysterical voice.

“There’s a group of Slytherins trying to change the Room of Requirement! They’re talking about their Lord something and Orders and they’re bad guys. BAD GUYS!” the boy said to Remus desperately.

“You did well, err…” Remus didn’t recognize him; he was clearly too young to have been attending during Remus’s tenure.

“Dennis, sir. Dennis Creevey.”

oOoOoOo

The next hour was one of the most stressful of Remus’s life. After delivering Dennis to the care of Poppy Pomfrey, Remus followed Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Febronia to the seventh floor. A short duel erupted before both Crabbe and Goyle were magically shackled and in Remus’s custody.

Febronia had pulled Harry aside while Hermione, Ron, and Remus were dueling, and now that their opponents were defeated, Harry told them that he wanted Ron and Hermione to guard the corridor while he and Febronia went in to find and destroy the Horcrux. He asked Remus to take the two Slytherin students to the Great Hall to be confined, since the Room of Requirement couldn’t be used to evacuate anyone whilst supplying them with the location of the Horcrux. Reluctantly, Remus agreed. 

Before he left, he saw Ron and Hermione talking hurriedly, before Ron handed something to Hermione. Then, Hermione came over to him, reached out to clasp his hand, and left something in it before running back to stand beside Ron, her wand at the ready.

It was a coin, one of the larger ones with room for a message. He suspected that it was hers, and she’d borrowed Ron’s for herself. Remus held it up and nodded respectfully to both of them. Hermione smiled broadly but Ron’s expression was bewildered and a bit cold.

Remus had expected to get pushback from Madame Pomfrey when he arrived in the Great Hall with two students in magical restraints, but she quickly put them to work for her. Their defensive and angry expressions melted away into sheepish ones when she chastised them gently for their actions.

As soon as Remus walked out of the Great Hall to head back over to the Room of Requirement and help Harry, the building was rocked by an explosion. Shortly afterwards, the coin in his pocket warmed, and he took it out to see what the message was.

INCOMING

BREACH AT

BRIDGE

Not long afterwards, the whole castle erupted in chaos. Wherever Remus went, he encountered a fierce battle between Death Eaters, Order members, and other defenders of the school, including professors and previous students. He was shocked to find not just werewolves but giants attacking-- but professors like Sprout and Hagrid were fighting back with their own magical creatures and plants.

By the time Remus had made his way back to the seventh floor corridor, Harry and Febronia had left the Room of Requirement and were standing over a disarmed and sullen Draco Malfoy. Ron and Hermione were arguing, and Febronia was deep in conversation with Harry. When Remus appeared around the corner, Draco scrambled for his wand and ran for it. Too far for his spells to be effective, Remus shouted, but it was too late. Draco escaped through one of the myriad passageways.

“That utter bellend! He snuck up on us under a disillusionment charm but I hexed him straightaway. Then Harry came right out and caught him by surprise!” Ron told Remus. He rubbed the back of his neck, chagrined. “Hermione pointed out that I shouldn’t have silenced him, because we’d have to wait till it wore off to interrogate him.”

“I shouldn’t have scolded you instead of watching him,” Hermione fretted.

“None of that matters now,” Harry interrupted. “I know where Voldemort is, and the last Horcrux is with him.”

He started down the hallway, and Remus wasn’t the only person to follow. Beside him, Febronia hissed in pain, and he looked over to see her clutching her head. 

“Not now, not now!” she was chanting under her breath. “Harry, wait!  _ Please!” _ she called out.

“Trust me,” Harry said, flashing her an unconcerned grin. He unfurled his Invisibility Cloak and threw it over his head, disappearing from view. Only one hand was still visible for a few seconds. In it, Harry waved the last Basilisk fang before pulling his arm back out of sight.

“Come on, we’ll get you to Poppy,” Remus said to Febronia. He held out his arm for her to use it as support, but she waved him off. 

“She already knows,” Febie said. After straightening up in what clearly was a painful move, she walked over to Ron and asked him, plaintively, “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help me try to follow Harry?”

“You-Know-Who’s still got one Horcrux that Harry’s going to try to stab, every Death Eater attacking wants to find him, probably to get a reward, and he’s hiding under an Invisibility Cloak,” Ron said incredulously. “I think a half-terrified Weasley and a little old lady are the  _ last _ two who are likely to find him right now, don’t you?”

Remus was completely certain that only a fully hidden and quick person could get through the front lines of the battle to reach wherever Harry had been compelled to go. He suspected that only seeing for herself would do, so he suggested that they see how far they could get as a group. With any luck, they’d be distracted by another task on the way.

There were small skirmishes-- duels, really --all along the corridor close to the front doors of the school. Their small group tossed spells where they could until they stepped out of the now destroyed double doors to see the frightening landscape of carnage in front of them. There were dark, huddled lumps of what Remus hoped were all Death Eaters scattered everywhere, unmoving. There was hardly a two meter section of ground that wasn’t scorched, gouged, or covered in indeterminate substances.

“The Shack! Look, the Willow’s been immobilized!” Hermione cried out, pointing.

Then, something about the shadows on the ground between where they stood and the passageway under the Whomping Willow made Remus throw his arm out to prevent any of them from running toward it.

There seemed to be a mist coming towards them. It was creeping along too quickly to be natural.

“Oh, Great Merlin!” Febronia groaned in total horror. “They’re Dementors.  _ Hundreds _ of them!”

“FALL BACK!” Remus screamed. Ron picked up Febronia without waiting to ask, and all of them ran back inside the school. Rather than bothering with repairing the doors, Remus simply cast a spell that called forth a cascade of permanent boulders, filling the open space where the doors ought to be. He didn’t delude himself that this would do much more than slow the creatures, but it would take a school full of happy thoughts to repel them completely.

When they got to the Great Hall, it was transformed into a triage unit, complete with a neat, orderly line up of bodies lying too still for Remus’s comfort. Everyone entering the large room stopped in the doorway in stunned, disbelieving shock.

The self-satisfied, unearthly voice of Voldemort echoed through the chamber once again, this time telling them he saw himself as merciful and those resisting him as brave. He told them that they had lost so many already, but they would all die if they continued to resist him. Then, he spoke directly to Harry. Remus saw the looks of relief that crossed Ron and Febronia’s faces. If Voldemort was addressing Harry like this, surely that meant Harry had yet to face him?

> _ I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. _
> 
> _  
> One hour._

 __  



	13. Pruning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Hogwarts comes to an end with losses on both sides. Hermione and Remus clarify their feelings for each other, and Remus is put in a position to understand the kind of sacrifice Hermione sought to perform.

###  Chapter Thirteen: Pruning

“Where is he!”

“Surely Harry hasn’t already gone to him?”

“What are we going to do?!”

The voices of distress and concern echoed around him, and Remus locked eyes with Minerva from across the Great Hall. She shook her head in worry, and he looked down, unable to answer her unspoken question.

_ Could they ask a young man who has gone through so much to sacrifice his life? Could they afford not to? _

“He’ll go,” Hermione said in a low voice beside him. “He won’t feel that he has a choice.”

With a sweep of her arm, Minerva cast a spell that showed a countdown clock on the wall above the doors. Then, she put herself to the task of sending groups outside to find the wounded and dead so they could be brought inside. Remus assigned himself to physical duty, moving tables and clearing debris to make room for more wounded. At first, it was a struggle to make space in enough time to make a difference, but eventually, he and the others working with him had packed away the tables and conjured nearly fifty pads for people to lay the wounded and dying. Part of the problem was that the furniture in Hogwarts’ Great Hall was impervious to most sizing charms, as well as nearly all levitation. Remus and the others had needed to move everything by hand.

He’d turned to find the next place he would be needed when Minerva called him over to the high table.

“Hermione has asked to catalogue the names of the dead. She has particular skill in charming documents to cross reference, but--”

“But that grim task is too emotionally damaging for any one of us, much less someone so young?” Remus interrupted. “I wish I could understand why it is she’s so determined to punish herself!” He scrubbed a hand over his face, wishing he could do the same to his heart. Touching a wound always seemed to make it feel better, but this ache was intangible, and thus unsoothable.

“It’s not my story to tell,” Minerva said in a voice thick with regret. She steadied herself with one of the great wooden chairs the teachers used at mealtimes.

“You’d rather let her suffer in silence when someone who loves her would do anything and everything possible to help?” Remus said sharply. “A fat lot of good that does!” With a surge of anger, he pushed the chair beside Minerva towards the wall with all of his might. It flew as if he’d used magic, shattering into splinters against the wall.

Remus expected harsh words of recrimination, but Minerva simply pursed her lips in disapproval and walked off, her stiff posture the only reproof necessary. He knew he’d acted rashly, and so did she. He’d apologize later.

Remus turned away, meaning to look for Hermione, but found that she had been standing behind him. The look on her tear-streaked face was hopeful.

“You love me?” she whispered.

He stepped down from the dais toward her. The surge of his raw emotions was too strong to tamp down, and he told her everything that was in his heart. “I dream that you’re sleeping beside me until I wake to find myself alone. I turn to speak to you at every meal, whether you’re there or not. The thing I used to dread above all else-- the pain of condemning a loved one to a life dominated by the full moon --seems like no hardship in comparison to living without you. Yes, I’ve fallen in love with you. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you during what was clearly the most traumatic event of your life, even if you never tell me what it was.”

The joy on her face was tinged with sadness, but she threw herself into his arms, and he buried his face in her hair. The messy braid was loose enough for some of the curls he loved so much to escape. He could see the clock counting down from where he stood, and every second of the twenty-three remaining minutes weighed on him, but he couldn’t let her go, not just yet.

“I love you too,” Hermione said against his chest. He could feel her starting to cry in earnest. Remus assumed that she’d spent at least some time among the deceased that were lined up in perfect rows by Poppy Pomfrey’s professionalism, so he just held her close. “You  _ were _ th _ \-- _ Oh, I can’t!” Hermione said after a few long minutes. “I want to, but-- oh, Remus!” Her tears soaked into his shirt.

She lifted her head and he braced himself for a rejection. He opened his arms reluctantly, pulling his dignity around himself as best he could. The parts of his heart he’d opened up to her would be impossible to retrieve, but he’d given them freely. 

“Why are you all tense?” Hermione asked. He’d closed his eyes, so when he felt her hand on his cheek, he jumped in surprise, opening them again. She was looking at him with fond exasperation, an expression he was ashamed to recognize. “Oh, you dear noble idiot! I meant I want to tell you what happened, but it’s just so…” Hermione brushed her thumb across his cheek before removing her hand to make a frustrated sort of helpless gesture with both hands. “I did  _ not _ mean to imply anything negative about the two of us. Got it?”

A cry of anguish from across the room drew their attention before he could answer her with anything more than a grateful nod.

Molly Weasley was kneeling, her arms outstretched towards a stretcher that had just been levitated into the room at the wand of Professor Flitwick. Remus couldn’t see who was on the stretcher, but he could tell by the way the person’s chest wasn’t moving that they weren’t breathing. The other thing that he could see was the person’s hair. It was long and red.

“Ginny?” Hermione whispered in a small, scared voice.

Remus scanned the room, remembering that Ginny had been helping Minerva earlier. He saw her across the room, starting to run towards her mother, and pointed her out to Hermione wordlessly.

“Charlie!” Ginny screamed.

On the other side of the room, Fred and George had been working with Febronia among the most wounded students, acting as water bearers and cheering them up with jokes. Both of them thrust their levitated pitchers at Febronia, who managed to catch one with her hands, the other nearly dropping to the ground despite her frantic wand-waving. 

“Go on,” Remus told Hermione, who seemed frozen in place. When he saw her start walking over to where the Weasleys were congregating around Charlie, he went over to Febronia. Gently, he cast his own levitation charm on the pitcher and brought it to the ground. He took the other from her hands, noting that she seemed like she was in shock.

“Oh, Remus,” she said, and threw herself at him in almost the same way Hermione had after helping Sirius dress as Bellatrix. “Changing everything is not possible, it seems. There’s a cost. I was foolish to think otherwise!” she said, her voice shaking even more than usual.

Remus conjured a soft, warm handkerchief for her, and she took it gratefully. After a minute or two, she pulled back.

“I’m sorry to be so forward. That’s the last thing you’ll be needing right now!”

“What, comforting a friend? I’d say the whole room is engaged in that activity. I could hardly hope to be exempt,” he said, gently teasing. 

A short chime sounded, and when he looked up to see its source, he saw that the timer had just passed below ten minutes. There were still more bodies being brought in on gurneys, and more cries of dismay. A child’s voice, one belonging to someone too young to still be in the castle at all, drew Remus’s attention.

“Colin,  _ no!” _ Dennis Creevey was crying.

Remus knew he needed to go to the boy, but he didn’t want to leave Febie before she was feeling better. He looked back over to her, and saw that she was again holding onto the object on the chain around her neck.

“Does it help?” he asked her, nodding toward it.

Her smile was sad, but she nodded. “Even more so now. No matter what happens, I’m glad to have known you, Remus Lupin.” His eyebrows shot up at the clear language of goodbye, and she chuckled. “Yes, I plan on casting the spell. It should always have been me, you know. Even though you persuaded me otherwise. I’m just returning the balance back to equal.” Febronia held up the fist hiding her talisman. “I’m going to encourage Hermione to show you hers, but if she doesn’t, don’t give up on her. Keeping it secret was perhaps the biggest mistake of my life.”

“I thought you gave it to her,” Remus said, confused.

Febronia shook her head. “No.  _ You _ did.”

He stared at her, baffled, until he heard the sound of Dennis’s crying again. Remus knew he had to compartmentalize today, just as he’d had to do that awful Halloween night when James and Lily were killed. It wasn’t that Febie’s comment wasn’t important, it was just that it wasn’t  _ immediate. _ Dennis was.

Dennis had thrown himself on his brother’s body. When Remus knelt beside the boy, he saw Poppy come over, sadness etched into her features. He stood up and she told him quietly that she’d come over to make sure the path was clear for any other stretchers, but it seemed, thankfully, that Colin’s might be the last.

“Gathering everyone up took the whole hour,” she said. “Great Merlin, I didn’t think I had the strength!”

“Is there a reason why we aren’t barricading the school or sending the rest of the younger ones to Hogsmeade?” Molly Weasley asked loudly. Her face was wet with tears and red with indignation. “Not one of us would have forced Harry to go out to the Forest, and I very much hope he’s hiding somewhere. That means they’ll be coming for us!”

“Harry isn’t hiding. At least, I don’t think he is,” Minerva said from the doorway. “He was in the Headmaster’s Office for a while, I think, but now…” her voice faltered.

Outside, the sounds of celebration could be heard; Remus heard explosions of magic that he recognized as the same spells cast everywhere for days after Voldemort’s defeat. He’d always associated them with James and Lily’s deaths, not with joy or triumph as they’d been intended at the time. Judging by Minerva’s face, they might now be associated with another Potter death.

Then, the sound of Voldemort’s voice echoed through the school yet again.

> _ Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone. The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as well every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before him, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together. _

“He’s lying!” Neville shouted. “It’s a trick. Harry would  _ never _ run away, never.”

“He didn’t run even when we were eleven years old! He went out there like he was told to and Voldemort killed him!” Ron added his voice to Neville’s.

Soon, everyone in the Great Hall were voicing their own objections. As Remus stood staring at Minerva’s stoic expression, someone tugged at his arm. He looked down to see Dennis Creevey. Everyone’s protestations faded away as though they’d become mute in their grief, and Dennis’s voice rang out.

“What if we went out there and all attacked him at once? If he’s going to kill us anyway, we should take him by surprise, yeah?” he told Remus. “I’m not going to bow to someone who killed my brother.”

“Neither am I,” Ron said in a voice that broke half-way through. Arthur put his arm around his son and shut his eyes, clearly in great pain.

It seemed like the whole group of survivors were looking to him for a decision. Remus pulled his wand out. “Let’s go,” he said.

One corner of Minerva McGonagall’s lip turned up in the smallest, most impactful smile he’d ever seen. She lifted her own wand and spun on her heel, stalking out of the Great Hall and on to spring the trap Voldemort had undoubtedly set for them.

Hermione waited by the doorway for him, and beside her was Kingsley, a white bandage wrapped around his knee. He was limping, and his face was bloody.

“Clawed by a werewolf,” Kingsley said with a lopsided grin. “You and Bill Weasley will have some compatriots after this night.”

“There’s no chance Febie grabbed a vial of Polyjuice and one of Harry’s hairs, is there?” Hermione asked Remus, her voice wistful and haunted.

Kingsley shook his head. “Polyjuice doesn’t persist in death, does it?”

A horrible sound of utter anguish came from the gaping hole that used to be the front entrance to Hogwarts. Soon after came more cries of dismay. Remus and the rest of the group rushed out to see for themselves.

Hagrid was standing a few paces behind a ghastly figure that could only be Voldemort. In the half-giant’s arms was Harry’s body. Hagrid himself was shaking, a twisted look of misery on his face. Remus was struck by the cruelty of the scene; of all the faculty, Hagrid was the most empathetic, the most likely to be emotionally destroyed by the task he’d been given.

“You’re a monster!” a voice shouted from the group of survivors.

As if a dam had been broken, more voices hurled insults at their tormentor. The stunning sight of Harry’s actual body had prevented them from following through with Dennis’s suggestion of a surprise attack, but that tide had turned back again. It was only a matter of minutes, Remus thought, before someone threw a curse. He felt powerless to stop it.

Hermione slipped her hand into his just as Neville Longbottom charged at Voldemort, his wand raised high.

oOoOoOo

Without the option of a Pensieve to review the memory of the next twenty minutes, Remus didn’t think he could ever properly explain the sequence of events. To go from the defeat of Hagrid holding Harry’s dead body, to Neville’s brave charge and Voldemort’s subsequent punishment of him was eventful enough, but to follow that with a centaur charge and a group of giants attacking?

The way Neville had pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat to kill the final Horcrux was poetic, given that Hermione had told him Voldemort had tried to make Horcruxes out of an artifact from each of the Founders.

Now, as Remus battled desperate Death Eaters, surrounded by not only Order members but also former students, families of former students, professors, Hogsmeade shopkeepers, and various other friendly faces, he wasn’t even surprised to see that the Hogwarts house elves had joined the fray. They were being pushed back toward the Great Hall, and for the first time since he’d heard Minerva’s awful scream of grief, Remus felt like they might yet win. 

Harry had disappeared and Febronia was nowhere to be found. Could she have found his Invisibility Cloak and taken Harry’s body? Would losing the proof of his victory over Harry be enough to stop Voldemort from winning the war itself?

The Great Hall was in shambles. Poppy had managed to cast shield spells to protect the bodies in their neat rows on the floor, but around and atop them was the rubble of the walls, as great holes were made in the walls during the fighting. Remus saw that a few dark figures were climbing up and out of the room, and he tried to make his way over to stop them, but the battle was too intense to do much more than defend and press the attack.

Hermione fought beside him. She was fierce and vicious in her curses, favoring hexes and spells that disabled and disoriented her opponents. Her hair had fallen free of its confinement and the force of her anger was sending sparks of magic through it as she battled.

One by one, Death Eaters fell, and eventually, only Voldemort remained. He roared with anger when he saw that his closest and most trusted companions had either been defeated or run away in fear. The evil man started to cast a killing curse at the person nearest to him, Molly Weasley.

A  _ Protego _ flashed up to protect her, and suddenly, Harry Potter was standing there, battered but alive, his Invisibility Cloak falling away.

The duel that followed was mostly fought in words, at first. When it was over, though, Harry hadn’t been the one to cast a killing curse. Voldemort did.

And it had rebounded on him. His dead body, no longer protected by shards of his tattered soul, lay still. It was over.

They had won.

oOoOoOo

Once their initial joy and shock at Harry having truly defeated Voldemort and fulfilling the prophecy had faded, Remus, Minerva, Kingsley, Poppy, and many other adults each started to find the places they were most needed. That was when Remus remembered that there was still one task that needed to be taken care of.

“Bellatrix got away through the break in the wall,” he told Minerva and Kingsley as they were conferring about where the remaining uninjured students could rest and recuperate. “I imagine she’s long gone by now, but she may be waiting to spirit away the body. If you can spare me, I’d like to go check.”

They both nodded at him, and Kingsley rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Be careful,” he said. “Her interpreter is dead, but she’s skilled at wordless curses. Don’t underestimate her.”

“I won’t,” Remus said grimly. He exchanged respectful nods with Minerva and went to find Hermione. She was with Sirius, Harry, Ginny, and the other Weasleys crowded around Charlie’s stretcher. Beside his body was that of a young woman. Her short hair was a soft pink, and Sirius was holding her hand with tears in his eyes. Hermione had an arm around Sirius and the other around Ginny, whose head was on Harry’s shoulder. Everyone’s expressions were serious and sad. Remus reached out and laid a gentle hand on Sirius’s shoulder.

“I feel like I failed her, Moony,” Sirius said without turning to see who had touched him. “The only member of my family here, and I couldn’t keep her safe.”

“You didn’t fail Tonks any more than the rest of us failed those we lost. Not if you tried your best,” Remus told him.

Hermione kissed Sirius’s cheek, turned to give Ginny a full body hug, and pulled free to come over to Remus. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and she didn’t bother wiping them away.

“I need to check outside for Bellatrix, but I didn’t want to go without telling you where I was,” he told Hermione.

“--without taking me with you, you mean,” she said firmly.

Remus thought about arguing with her for about half a second before nodding and taking her hand. She looked up at him, startled.

“I thought you’d want to… I don’t know, ease everyone into this?” she said quietly, lifting their joined hands.

“If there’s a problem, we’ll deal with it.”

“Even if they tell us it’s just a trauma bond?” Hermione asked as they walked out of the Great Hall.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Remus admitted.

“Good,” Hermione said. “Because it’s not.”

The sunshine felt out of place, as if daylight had come abnormally early, instead of being earned by a long night of fighting. The amount of smoke and debris visible were sobering.

“Remus.” Hermione’s voice trembled with fear. She was transfixed, staring at the Whomping Willow, which was completely still. Directly underneath it was a lone figure in black standing over a crumpled body. The shape was too small to be anything other than a child, and even at that distance, Remus could see that they were wearing school robes. The standing person gestured with their wand, and Remus’s hair stood on end as he saw the figure writhe in pain.

“Who --?” Hermione whispered in a horrified tone.

Suddenly, Remus knew with an awful certainty. “Dennis,” he breathed.

“She didn’t leave by herself,” Hermione said, drawing closer to him, her wand gripped tightly in her hand. “There were other Death Eaters with her. It’s a trap.”

Across the lawn from them, Bellatrix Lestrange gestured again, and the boy at her feet cried out in pain, the sound carried to them on the wind. Remus turned to Hermione.

“All that time I was desperate to stop you, and here I am, faced with the same choice, coming to the same conclusion.”

Hermione closed her eyes, the press of her eyelids causing the waiting tears to course down her cheeks. “Let me. I know what to do. You can grab Dennis, and--”

“No,” Remus said, emotion making his voice gritty. “I won’t let her take someone else I love.  _ Not again.” _ He leaned over and kissed her, a fleeting touch that still felt like fire against his lips.

“I could run back, send a Patronus, get backup,” Hermione protested, her voice turning shrill.

“I know exactly how you feel,” Remus said, leaning over to tip his forehead against hers, “--but the Willow could un-freeze at any moment. There’s no time. It has to be now, and it has to be me.”

Her arms came around him in a fierce little hug before she slid her hands up to frame his face. She spoke with speed and certainty. “I understand. If anyone’s hiding, ready to attack, I’ll stop them.”

“Promise me you won’t cast anything against her,” Remus said as he walked away from Hermione and toward Bellatrix. The anger he felt at the unfairness of the entire situation made his next words come out in a growl.  _ “I owe her one.” _

When his focus was back on Dennis and his surroundings, a sense of dread started to rise up inside him. The very farthest edges of the tree’s branches were starting to move. He broke into a run, and Bellatrix spread her arms out to her sides in a challenge. She threw her head back in a soundless laugh. Behind him, he heard Hermione cast a shield charm and saw the bubble of protection form around his body. A nearly imperceptible glow coming from Bellatrix’s direction glanced off of the shield, and Remus couldn’t stop his gasp.

Without her voice, Bellatrix gave no warning when she was about to strike. Only a wand movement would signal that she was casting, and she was gesticulating wildly. Her hands moved in an intricate dance that might be spellwork and might be an attempt to trick him into  _ thinking _ it was spellwork. There was no way to tell.

Hermione cast again, and this time the bright green spell that bounced off the shield was unmistakable.

He was going to die, Remus realized. He hadn’t had to watch Iraja fall, but Hermione would have to watch this.

Remus was close enough to cast on Dennis, and he traced out two spells in rapid succession. First, a shield charm and secondly,  _ Levicorpus. _

As he suspected they would, the Death Eaters hiding behind the Willow walked out into sight, their wands lifted and pointed at him. Hermione shouted a warning and cast another  _ Protego, _ but Remus was focused on the child. He gathered up his magic and swung his wand arm in a wide arc, starting to levitate Dennis’s crumpled body away from danger. Two spells flew toward him, one glancing off of Hermione’s shield. He braced himself for the second, but it glanced off as well. He hadn’t heard her cast again, but clearly  _ someone _ had.

Then, from the opposite direction of where he  _ knew _ Hermione was standing, a figure limped into view. It was Hermione, her brown curls blowing around her head with the force of the magic she was gathering around herself. Her clothing was different, and in his confusion, even though he was almost to Bellatrix, even though Dennis was almost to safety, Remus stopped to stare at her.

Behind him, Hermione’s familiar voice screamed, “Febronia, wait!”

Then, just as he understood what had to be happening, he was propelled away from the Willow with a blast of magic so powerful he lost consciousness.

The last thing he heard was Febronia’s voice, addressing Bellatrix.

“I’m taking you with me this time.”

oOoOoOo

Remus woke in a dark room. Only the faint outline of light around the door and where it was in relation to his bed told him where he was-- in his room at Potter Manor. His head and his ankle hurt, but not badly enough for the Hospital Wing or St. Mungo’s.

At first, he didn’t move anything but his eyes, too overcome by the memories of what had happened right before he was knocked out.

Was Dennis all right?

Had Bellatrix gotten away?

Did Febronia cast the spell?

Remus closed his eyes and pictured the last time he’d seen Febronia. She’d been upset, had left her tears on him just as Hermione had, and he remembered clearly looking down at her white collared shirt. It was the same shirt that he’d seen the second Hermione wearing right before he was knocked unconscious. There would be no reason for her to spend so much magical energy on a Glamour like that without it having a huge weight of meaning behind it. Her last line had clearly been thought out, as well.

_ ‘I’m taking you with me this time.’ _

That implied that she had attacked Bellatrix before. 

There was a strange sense of urgency that Remus felt hovering in the far distance of his mind, a conclusion he needed to make. There was a weight to that urgency, as though he had but to reach out and grasp a particular concept… and if he did, he would finally understand something really important.

Febronia was a part of it, and Remus thought about her odd behavior and what it could mean. She’d been so upset after they’d found out that Charlie had died, talking about changing things. Febie had told him that ‘it always should have been me,’ in reference to the sacrificial spell that he was certain she’d cast right after pushing him out of the way with magic.

Remus opened his eyes.

What if Febronia really  _ was _ Hermione, instead of her just choosing that Glamour at random?

He thought back to when he’d first met her. She’d stared at him and then apologized, told him that he reminded her of someone she’d lost. Then, every time he interacted with her after that, she had seemed afraid of him, so much so that he’d eventually apologized to her about it. Her reaction had been that of surprise, and Remus had just taken it to mean she was humoring him. Now he wasn’t so sure. What if she hadn’t been shocked at all? What if she’d been genuine, there; Febronia hadn’t expected him to think she was afraid of him. He had assumed she was hiding something, and she  _ had been. _

She knew his favorite meal. Knew that he didn’t take cream in his tea. She’d looked rattled to her core when he touched her before Apparating.

Remus sat up, forgetting that he’d been trying to stay still in case someone had cast a spell to alert them to his movement, something he knew Poppy Pomfrey had used on him when he was at Hogwarts. If he was right, Febronia was an elderly Hermione after a long and happy life with her husband and children.

His children.  _ Their _ children.

Not only that but Febronia had clearly been trying to persuade a desperately unhappy Hermione that life was worth living by telling her about her own happy life.  _ Hermione’s  _ future happy life. He swung his legs down from the bed and felt around with his stockinged feet for his slippers. Every inch of his skin felt like he was connected to a live wire; he had goosebumps and was short of breath. Hermione Granger  _ \--Lupin?!-- _ had traveled back in time to change something about the way her best friend hadn’t been properly involved in fulfilling the prophecy.

Remus tried to stand up, steadying himself on the bedpost. His head pounded, but his ankle felt less stiff with weight on it. He decided that the pounding was probably related to the things he was coming to understand. He took a step forward and rested his forehead on the coolness of the wall.

His heart ached for the Hermione that wasn’t his. She must have been terrified to see the possible destruction of her timeline, when the changes she hadn’t been expecting put Remus in danger. She’d been limping, but still managed the strength to save him. He chuckled aloud. He was  _ proud _ of her. The fierce, intelligent, elderly witch that his alternate self had loved was every bit as amazing and infuriating as his Hermione.

Thinking about his Hermione had him overwhelmed, again. He’d nearly lost her. After all the time he’d spent trying to keep her from making a self-sacrificial decision, he was forced to make that same decision in the space of a few minutes.

Then, something Febronia had said during the battle made Remus shake his head at himself. She’d told him that she was meant to cast the spell that ultimately saved him, even though he had persuaded her otherwise. But… he hadn’t. He had never spoken to Febronia about  _ her _ casting the spell, only Hermione. The evidence of who she was had been there the whole time, and he hadn’t caught it. Remus turned around to rest his back and shoulders against the wall, feeling deeply troubled by having missed something so important. How much evidence had he overlooked?

He straightened up and walked over to the desk to pull out a length of parchment to note down his thoughts. The first one he found wasn’t blank; it was the message from Hermione on his birthday. He sat down at the desk and traced his finger across where she’d written his name. On a second, smaller piece of paper, he started writing down things Febronia said that had struck him as odd.

There was the day they’d met. She’d seemed so afraid of him, to the point of Minerva comforting her once he’d left the room. Febie had avoided touching him the day he and Hermione had shown up at the boarding house, and had clearly been affected when he’d Side-Alonged her to the Shack. Then, there was the necklace she was always holding onto.

Remus groaned aloud. Hermione had one too. He’d even remarked on the similarity!

He ran his hand through his hair and tried to remember the particulars of his conversation with Febie about it. Instead of thinking about it from his point of view, he thought about it from hers-- a conversation between a woman and a version of the man she loved. She’d said something about keeping the necklace a secret, which was definitely odd. Remus wrote that down. Then, he had asked her if she’d been the one to give the necklace to Hermione. Remus groaned again. She hadn’t, of course. She didn’t have to. It was the same necklace!

Her response about that had been strange too, he remembered. She’d told him  _ he _ had given it to her. Yet again, Remus shook his head at himself. The night had been chaotic, but he wondered why the comment hadn’t resonated with him more at the time! He didn’t give anything like that to Hermione, and it couldn’t have been at a later date if his Hermione already had it, so what could Febronia have meant?

Remus tried to think of any time when he’d given anything to a woman. There were birthday and Christmas presents for Lily, once James had brought her round, but--

Thinking about his time at Hogwarts jogged a memory.

He  _ had _ given a necklace to a woman. He’d given his mother’s pendant to Iraja.

Remus pressed his palms to his eyes until he saw colors against the blackness of his eyelids. As if he’d converted them into a Pensieve, the swirls smeared into memories. Iraja pulling her thick curly hair up off of her neck in relief. Iraja hissing in pain as the effects of her illness manifested themselves. Hermione in the library, sighing in relief as she pulled her hair up. Febronia crying out and holding her head in the seventh floor corridor. Hermione clutching an object on a long chain around her neck. Febronia doing the same.

Febronia’s last words to Bellatrix.

He dropped his hands onto the desk and stared at them in disbelief. Was he looking for connections where none existed in an attempt to forgive himself for falling in love with someone who wasn’t Iraja?

The long chain he’d found to pair with his mother’s pendant had been a last minute thing, bought from a female friend who had seen his distress when his attempts to conjure one that wouldn’t disappear had failed. He had berated himself for worrying about the length of time it would stay conjured in the first place, considering that Iraja only had days to live at the time. But to him, there had been something symbolic about it, and even altering the chain he’d purchased had felt wrong. It was an unusual length, and so was Hermione’s.

“Is it possible to overdose on adrenaline?” he asked himself out loud. The rush of awareness and urgency felt familiar at this point, after the night he’d had. Almost immediately, though, Remus felt shame. So many good people had died, and he was worried about the damage an excess of adrenaline could cause? He clenched his hands into fists, revealing the words that had been hiding underneath. Hermione’s birthday letter.

He stared at his own name, and realized something.

Iraja had written his name in the letter he carried with him.

Remus pulled his wallet from his pocket and stared at it for a few seconds. He’d long since stopped taking Iraja’s letter out to re-read it, as he’d memorized it within months of her death. The parchment she’d written it on was spelled imperturbable, but it still  _ felt _ fragile, and Remus had felt fragile when reading it. He had dutifully transferred it to each new wallet he’d owned, even when it was the only thing inside.

“So your theory is that not only has Hermione Granger time traveled from the future to save your life, but she time traveled into the past and was your first love?!” Remus said to himself in a harsh whisper.

As soon as he’d said it he knew he was being unfair. Iraja had resisted him to the point of absurdity. Febronia had said multiple times during the battle that things were turning out differently than she had expected. Febronia had chosen to go back, but Hermione probably had not. She’d described what happened to her as a catastrophic accident.

There was a knock at the door, and Remus dropped the wallet on his desk, startled. After calling out for whoever it was to come in, he stood, resting his fingertips on the wallet, which lay on Hermione’s letter.

It was Minerva. She came over to him in a rush, stopping herself with her hand on the bedpost.

“When we found you after Hermione came to get us, hysterical--” she broke off, holding a clenched fist to her lips. “I’m glad you are awake.”

“Febronia saved me. I know who she was, now. She cast a Glamour before she attacked Bellatrix,” Remus said. Minerva’s eyebrows shot up and he held out a hand, a lump forming in his throat. “I say ‘know,’ like I could ever understand what I, what the other me meant to her…” he trailed off, staring at the floor, speechless. Minerva didn’t say anything, and he couldn’t look at her. “Did you know, the whole time?” he asked, thinking about when he’d first met Febronia and the comforting words he’d overheard Minerva speaking after he’d left her office.

“No,” Minerva said. “I only truly understood what happened after you gave me her journals, after she was gone.”

Remus looked up at her and saw the dismay on her face as she realized she’d said too much. As if waiting for the other to be the first to take the next breath, they stood staring at each other.

“Remus,” Minerva finally said in a choked voice. He shook his head decisively, just once, and turned toward his desk. 

“Don’t fret,” he told her, not unkindly. “I was in the middle of persuading myself it couldn’t be true when you knocked.”

With shaking hands, he opened his wallet, pulled out Iraja’s letter, and laid it flat beside Hermione’s.

The handwriting was identical.

“How?” he whispered. His heart ached, and he wasn’t entirely sure whether he was grateful or miserable.

“She died, Remus. It’s called Time Death.” Minerva walked over but didn’t touch him. He could feel the warmth radiating from her body, and that was comfort enough. Anything more and he felt like he might collapse in on himself. “In her letter to me, it was clear that she thought it would be permanent. When I spoke to her for the first time here she was, well… stunned, miserable, and  _ distraught _ that she was alive.”

He pulled in a ragged breath and turned to look at Minerva. “She _ didn’t know  _ she would live?”

“She didn’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a joy to watch some readers guess at Febronia's identity and others wonder what was up with her! Thank you for sharing your thoughts. This story is close to my heart and I have adored getting to read what you think. Not too much longer now!


	14. Harvest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story draws to a close with happy news for Sirius, an explanation of who Febronia was and why she chose to help out at the Battle, and a sensible call for a long, happy life for Remus and Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'The Earthly Messenger' is a reference to the meaning of the name Hermione, and a hint about who Febronia is.

###  Chapter Fourteen: Harvest

Minerva reassured him that Dennis was relatively unharmed from his encounter with Bellatrix and that there was a planned meeting slash celebration of survival scheduled the next morning outside of the Burrow. She also promised him that they could compare notes about Febronia, but that Febie had left instructions behind, and she planned to follow them. The steel resolve that crept into her voice made Remus remember something important.

“Will the Ministry come after us for our relationship? It will seem as if she returned from the past and told me who she was. The regulations--”

“This is a notable and more importantly, expected exception. Keeping the survivors of Time Death happy and compliant is important to the Department of Mysteries,” Minerva told him.

“Speaking for myself, I don’t feel the need to justify anything with the fact that we met in the past,” Remus said, mostly meaning it. The wrinkles around Minerva’s eyes softened, and she reached out to squeeze his hand.

His next question was about how Hermione was doing physically.

“She’s unhurt,” Minerva promised. Then, uncharacteristically, she let out a bark of laughter. “Knows herself well, that one,” she said, her lips still twitching. “When it was made clear that you would fully recover and that your system was simply overloaded by the surge of magic you were exposed to, Hermione had a very specific request. She asked to be Stunned with the stipulation that you would be the one to wake her, once you yourself revived.”

“More self-flagellation?” Remus asked, confused.

Minerva chuckled again. “She said quite simply that she didn’t want to brood about your condition when there wasn’t a thing to be done but wait.”

“She couldn’t focus well enough to read, could she?” he asked, fighting back amusement. Hermione had been worried about him enough to essentially sleep through his own unconsciousness, but anxious enough not to employ Dreamless Sleep or another imprecise mechanism. It was endearing to the extreme.

Minerva and a few other professors were staying at Potter Manor and the Burrow instead of at Hogwarts, and as temporary Headmistress, she wanted to visit them before she herself headed to bed. It had been a long, emotional day for the Hogwarts faculty, as they had taken care to ensure that every student was sleeping that night if not in a house with their parents, then with family or close loved ones.

He wanted to rush to see Hermione immediately, but Remus forced himself to take a quick shower and change into clean clothes unmarred by smoke, blood, or dust and debris from the battle. With his wand in his hand, he let himself into her room, casting a weak illumination charm to hover over her bed. The bed itself was huge, and Hermione was in the middle of it, having clearly lay down on her back in preparation for being Stunned. With the low light leeching the color away into grayscale, Remus himself felt stunned by how much she looked like his memory of Iraja. Hermione’s hand was up by her face, her hair and hand obscuring some of the area her scars had been located.

Her other hand had fallen slack after the Stunner, revealing the blue pendant she’d been clutching.

It was the same one he’d given Iraja the day she’d seemed to die.

He sat on the bed and reached out to brush a curl away from her lips. Remus felt her breath on his hand, and the force of emotion made his wand hand tremble.

_ “Innervate,” _ Remus said, tracing the spell as gently as he could.

Hermione gasped as she woke, her back arching with the stretch she performed before focusing her gaze on him. Happiness and vulnerability shone from her eyes.

“Good evening,” Remus said, hinting at the time. Instead of answering, Hermione reached for his hand, and he adjusted the way he was sitting so she could clasp it in both of hers. “Sorry to disappoint your Muggle side by being unable to wake you with a kiss,” he said.

This earned him a slow, genuine smile. “I was more of a ‘kiss the frog’ child. More proactive,” she told him.

“Of course,” he laughed. “I feel like I’m living in a fairy tale right now,” he added. Her blush was encouraging, so he said the line he’d been rehearsing in his head in the shower. “Thank you for giving me the chance to fall in love with you twice.”

Now Hermione’s blush was covering her whole face, and she released his hands to sit up more fully in the bed. When she was settled, Remus reached out and traced a finger over the blue pendant he’d given her.

“Did Febie tell you?” she asked, lifting her chin a bit. He shook his head, and she elaborated. “She told me to tell you. I couldn’t figure out how she knew until I saw her limp out of the Forbidden Forest and cast the Glamour.”

“I figured it out once I realized who she was. Odd behaviors, phrases, that sort of thing.” He smiled ruefully and tipped his head to the side when he told her, “I could have worked it out sooner if only I’d thought to compare the note you slipped under my door to the note in my wallet!”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think of that! Though, I don’t know that I expected you to keep the goodbye letter. I didn’t think anything about Iraja would last after I was gone, except maybe the journals for Minerva.” She pulled her legs free of the light comforter she’d been covered in, sliding forward so that she was kneeling beside him on the bed. In a grave, quiet voice, she said, “I’m sorry, Remus. I wish I could have spared you so much pain.”

“You couldn’t have known. Minerva says that the Department of Mysteries deliberately regulates the information about Time Death.”

“No,” she whispered, a wistful look on her face as she reached a tentative hand up to brush his hair back from where it had fallen in disarray on his forehead. “I meant James and Lily.”

His breath caught, and before Hermione could pull her hand away, he reached up to trap it against his cheek, turning to kiss her wrist. “Do you remember telling me how upset you were at the way no one stepped in to help me after what happened?”

She nodded.

“If I could bring myself to forgive the friends and mentors who with no knowledge of the future, chose not to meddle in my life, then I can forgive you even more easily. You knew what you were risking.”

Hermione looked at him in what could only be described as utter disbelief. “But--”

He surged forward and kissed her, at first desperate, determined to stop her from disbelieving him. Then the knowledge sank in that they weren’t in a fraught situation, fighting for their lives. He didn’t have to feel like he was stealing time from something more important. Remus pulled back and brushed her glorious curls away from her face with one hand. Her vulnerability was still there, but it was eclipsed by happiness, now. He let his eyes trace over her features, and Hermione looked down at the twist of blankets between them.

“You’re not afraid to follow your own advice, are you?” he teased her. That had her looking up at him, confused, and he reminded himself that she didn’t have years of repetition to reinforce the wording of the letter she’d left him. For her, it had been barely three months ago.  _ “Someday, someone else will love you like I did. Let her. Love her back,” _ he quoted to her.

Hermione drew back from him, evading his gaze. “I just didn’t want you to dwell on it, look at the experience of loving someone as a box to check off. I’d watched you--” she broke off and shook her head against whatever she didn’t want to say.

“Were you thinking of someone in particular, or were you just hoping there would be a little more love in the world?” he asked her.

_ That _ earned him a reaction. “What?” Hermione gasped. “You’re quoting… but that conversation was…”

“That’s right, you were there for that, weren’t you? Fleur standing up for her relationship with Bill, even after he was attacked by a werewolf,” he said. “There’s less love in the world now that Dora and Charlie are both gone. Sad to see her words turned against her like that.”

“Her words?” Hermione asked, clearly surprised. “In my memory, it was Minerva who said them.”

“Yes, Dora and Fleur were very close. She was quite vocal in the defense of their relationship.”

“How curious! I remember her arguments, but of course they were--” Hermione broke off. “Err, never mind.” She scooted to the edge of the bed and got up, walking over to a hook on the wall to take down a lightweight, oversized sweater and put it on. Her body language was closed off and guilty, and Remus made a guess.

“You  _ were _ referring to someone specific! Who?” He was careful not to sound too upset or interested, despite feeling a burning curiosity. He hadn’t really had a chance to think through the implications of Hermione’s time travel as Iraja. There was a version of him in her memory that no longer existed, a version who had never known Iraja, and whose life had been different as a result.

“She was younger than you by quite a few years,” Hermione said, tying the belted cord of her sweater in a neat, tight knot. “You were quite resistant, particularly about the age difference. I thought if I could encourage you just a little to let yourself be happy--”

An awful certainty dawned on Remus.  _ “That’s _ why you didn’t say anything.  _ That’s  _ why you were so determined to cast that spell! I’m right, aren’t I? You thought I’d reject you!”

“Not  _ just _ that,” Hermione protested, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I was prepared to die, Remus. If I hadn’t been, I never would have put you through that. When I woke up and we were still in the middle of the fight of our lives, everything against us… I was so sure I couldn’t have you. ‘Too old, too poor, too dangerous,’ you’d told her-- and she was older than me! Why not simply finish what I’d started when I didn’t die in the first place?”

“It was Dora, wasn’t it? Great  _ Merlin, _ ” Remus swore. He looked back at Hermione and saw that she’d turned away from him toward the window. “I haven’t read much about time travel theory, but from what I remember, anything that you change and then come back from sends you to a new reality. You didn’t take that Remus away from his Dora. That Remus never knew Iraja,” he said.

Remus walked over to stand behind Hermione. She reached back to intertwine their fingers, but didn’t turn around as she spoke.

“When I woke up alive, I was devastated. All I could think was that I’d put you through such an awful experience for nothing, if I could come out of it in nearly the same place as I had left. I told myself I would have to ignore my feelings for you until I got the chance to finish dying like I was supposed to the first time,” she said in a sad voice.

Remus stepped even closer, and she swayed back against him for a few seconds before straightening again.

“Those high-minded ideals crumbled into dust when I saw you again,” Hermione said with a wry laugh. “You were everything I already loved matured into the kind of man I would have fallen for even if we’d only first met.” She turned her head to look at him, her eyes bright with tears. “Everything I already liked and respected about you got rolled into the Remus I loved in the past. I fell in love with you all over again-- your intelligence, your kindness and patience, and your perceptive ability to support everyone around you in just the right way.”

Remus opened his mouth to tell her how full his heart was in that moment, but she dislodged her hand from his to rest it on his lips, stopping him.

“I’m telling you that it wasn’t just you in the past that I love. It’s all of you. I don’t think if I got the chance to go back and be with the you from Hogwarts that I would even want to.” Remus just looked at her, speechless but so very affected by what she’d said. Hermione turned back to look out the window, making a noise half-way through a laugh and a sound of shock. “I suppose that might be a comfort to you, given who Febronia was. I imagine she preferred her Remus, no matter how much she was happy to see you.”

Remus nodded, but knew she couldn’t see him while she was turned away, so he added, “Yes, I could see that being the case.”

He felt so overwhelmed by the words she’d said to him and the sentiment behind them that he couldn’t think of how to respond except by loving her. They stood in silence for another minute before something else seemed to occur to her.

“Febronia said that her best friend didn’t fill the role he was supposed to, that he was consumed by the Dark Arts when he didn’t satisfy the prophecy. If she was me from the future, that means Harry,” Hermione said. “I read some books about time travel, while I first ended up in the past--”

_ “Some _ books?” Remus leaned over and asked the question with his lips to her ear, his voice low, affectionate, and teasing. She shot a heated look at him over her shoulder, and he couldn’t tell how much of it was answering affection, and how much was indignation. They were equally attractive to him.

“If Febronia only traveled back because she felt something was wrong, then what happens in the next iteration of our timeline, the one I don’t go back to because Harry was successful?” she asked.

“There isn’t one,” he said with a confidence he didn’t quite feel. “You get to die an old lady in your bed, surrounded by our children and grandchildren.”

Now she turned around. “Our children?” He nodded. “I think I would like that. Not for a while yet, though,” she added, biting her lip.

“You wouldn’t be Hermione Granger if you didn’t want to have ample practice before embarking on something so important,” Remus said with a deep chuckle.

Her cheeks flamed red, but to his delight, she nodded firmly. “Don’t forget the research,” she told him.

oOoOoOo

They did not ‘practice’ that night. Instead, Remus and Hermione slept in her large bed (a huge upgrade from the single hospital bed they’d shared in the past) and revelled in the security of there being no looming threat over their relationship with each other. When he woke up, Remus found that he’d ended up pillowing his head on her hair, which had been swept up over his shoulder from where she’d rested her head. Hermione was already awake when he opened his eyes. He’d immediately apologized, but she just told him that she hadn’t wanted to disturb him, but now that he was free to move, she needed to use the loo.

He used some quick cleansing charms and got dressed by the time she returned. Instead of banishing him from the room while she changed, or changing in front of him, Hermione conjured up a room divider.

He didn’t tell her that the way she’d positioned the screen meant that he could see her in detailed silhouette.

oOoOoOo

After breakfast, Remus left Hermione to chat with her former professors and went to find Sirius. Given that the planned meeting was to include more than just Order members, he wanted to be sure Sirius would be safe, whether he intended to attend or not.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you!” Sirius said with great enthusiasm. “Shacklebolt thinks we have a real chance at dropping the worst of the charges against me.”

“How?” Remus asked. As much as he respected Kingsley, it was quite early to be relying on any imagined future position in the Ministry so soon after the battle.

“Narcissa Malfoy, actually,” was the surprising answer. “Lucius apparently forced Pettigrew to store a few compromising memories as insurance against his stay in the manor. She agreed to hand them over; says that one of them is his memory of casting the spell killing all of those Muggles in the alley!”

Remus reached out to steady himself on the wall nearby. “As simple as that?”

“Compared with my memory extracted with permission with witnesses and verified by a Ministry Legilimens, it should be solid proof of his guilt, or so Kingsley told me,” Sirius said with a broad smile. “Strictly speaking, they should have done that at the time and seen the discrepancy with their official story in the first place, but no skin off of my chest, right?” he added, clapping a hand onto the Weird Sisters logo of his t-shirt, underneath which Remus knew were quite a few tattoos he’d obtained while incarcerated.

“So you’ll come under Glamour?” Remus hoped.

“Mild Glamour, strong Notice Me Not. No need for me to add to the accounts, but I would like to hear them,” Sirius told him.

When Sirius, Hermione, and Remus arrived at the Burrow, they saw that an array of chairs had been set up in a semicircle, a few rows thick, outside in the morning sunshine. The professors were already there, and a small figure beside Minerva waved to Remus and started over.

“I’m not going to stay for the whole thing, because that would be too scary, Professor McGonagall says,” Dennis Creevey told him excitedly. “My mum and dad are ready to take me to lunch, after I get through my part. Did you know we were going first?”

“I didn’t,” Remus admitted. “Though I’m happy to, if it gets you back to your parents sooner.”

“I stayed at a hotel with them last night. It’s so strange to stay in a Muggle hotel after spending almost all night up around so much magic!” Dennis said.

“I can imagine.”

“Well, I’ll see you later. Did I say thank you yet? I should have said thank you first! I’m sorry,” the boy said in a sincere, awkward voice.

Remus didn’t get to answer, as a rush of survivors started Apparating in, and Dennis wanted to save his seat in the very front middle.

“Trauma doesn’t seem to have dampened his personality all that much,” Hermione said in a grateful voice.

After ten more minutes of polite greetings and other pleasantries, Minerva stepped onto a magically cleared circle of around six feet and cleared her throat. A spell that must have been cast on the area caused that small cough to be amplified throughout the field where everyone was congregated.

“Please come take your seats. I’m pleased to see so many of you here. I wanted to tell you why we chose to have this assembly so soon after the battle,” Minerva said, her voice magically enhanced to be loud but not unbearable. “As some of you remember, nothing like this was attempted after Voldemort’s defeat the first time around.”

“Not even a quiver, saying it,” Sirius whispered in admiration. “After Snatchers and compulsion for months, she just blurts out the name! I bet you she didn’t even practice.”

“You’d think you would listen, since this part actually pertains to you, you know,” Remus whispered back, amused.

“--prevent the sort of suppression of important information that caused at least one person to be imprisoned falsely for over a decade,” Minerva said in a severe tone of voice.

“Hear, hear,” Arthur Weasley said.

“Our format will involve the announcement of a name, and asking anyone with information about that person’s death to step forward and give an account of it. If you believe that you witnessed relevant actions by that person that did not result in death, please also come forward. Remember,” Minerva clasped her hands in front of her in a rare show of emotion. “Your actions today are promoting healing. You have no way to know how important your observations will be to the friends and family of the deceased.”

With a gesture, Minerva called Kingsley up to speak. “I am speaking on behalf of the Ministry, here,” he said. “If you wish to give a private account, please take one of the squares of parchment in these two baskets, write the name of the person you have knowledge of and your name. You will be contacted this evening. Anonymity is guaranteed-- this is no witch hunt. Thank you for understanding. As a show of support, myself and a few Aurors will be standing by.”

Kingsley stepped back after gesturing to the baskets he mentioned, which were being passed from seat to seat. Every so often, a witch or wizard took a couple of them. Remus felt impressed. The atmosphere was heavy, but not oppressive.

“We will begin with Febronia Ermengild,” Minerva said from the resonant circle. “Hers was one of the last of the evening, but as it involves Dennis Creevey, I decided to start with her. Dennis will not be staying afterwards.” Minerva smiled as Dennis stood and walked over to her. There were a few noises of concern and distress from those in the crowd who remembered what he’d gone through.

Remus stood, as did Hermione. When they walked over to stand beside Dennis, Remus saw that despite the way Dennis was standing, head held high, his hands were trembling. Remus stood behind the boy and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, nodding so he knew it was time to speak.

“I wasn’t able to evacuate,” Dennis said, looking down at the ground for a few seconds. “So I stayed back, when we were fighting V-Voldemort in the Great Hall. I didn’t want anyone to worry about me and get distracted and hurt, when they were dueling. But a Death Eater grabbed me and dragged me outside.”

Dennis, Remus, and Hermione each took turns explaining the rest of the events, and when they were finished, Minerva took out a parchment and walked over to stand in front of them. After a nod from her, the agreed-upon signal, they went to sit down.

“This is a message from Febronia given to me on the eve of the battle. I’ve read it over and it is my opinion that it doesn’t violate the Department of Mysteries guidelines,” Minerva said, looking down at the paper for a few seconds before looking at the assembled group with her eyebrows raised. “If I am incorrect, I apologize in advance for subjecting you to Corrective Obliviation.”

There was a titter that washed through the group at that.

“Here is the section that she wished me to read to you,” Minerva said.

“Does that mean this meeting was her idea?” someone asked from the crowd.

Minerva looked directly at Sirius, who was sitting beside Remus on the end of the row. “Yes, yes it was.”

Remus kept his eyes on his colleague as he moved his hand from his lap to rest on top of Hermione’s. She turned her hand over and they sat to listen to a message from her alternate self palm to palm.

_ “‘My name as you know it is Febronia Ermengild. I attended Hogwarts as many of you did, had good friends as many of you do, and have lived a long and happy life as I hope all of you can say at the end of yours. I wish I could say the same for some of my friends. My best friend in particular.’” _

Remus leaned over and whispered a question to Sirius. “I was unconscious-- does Harry know who Febronia was?”

“Is that a trick question?” Sirius whispered back, looking confused.

Hermione kicked him in the shin with enough force that Remus decided to simply sit and listen.

_ “‘--dominated by a prophecy,’” _ Minerva read, curling the top of the parchment over.  _ “‘His name was Harry Potter, and the name I was born with is Hermione Granger.’” _

There was a murmur through the assembled crowd, and the people who knew where Hermione was sitting turned to look at her. She tightened her grip on Remus’s hand as if she expected him to pull away under such scrutiny, but he just squeezed back without looking over at her.

_ “‘During my version of the battle you just fought, a brave Minerva McGonagall cast a devastating spell to destroy our adversary and his closest lieutenants, after destroying the Horcruxes which kept his soul tethered to life. Her death and theirs brought an end to the war, but not to Harry’s suffering. Unknown to us, there was a remnant of Voldemort left behind in Harry, undoubtedly left there when his mother was killed. _

_ While this didn’t prevent Voldemort’s defeat, it provided a conduit for Voldemort’s remaining soul to escape complete obliteration by hiding inside of Harry, corrupting his mind and eventually causing him to be the first wizard in history to choose incarceration in Azkaban whilst committing no known crimes.’” _

“Knowing Hermione, that’s a subtle way of saying he didn’t get caught,” Sirius whispered to Remus. Around them, a few others whispered to their companions, causing Minerva to look up from the parchment and pause until there was silence.

_ “‘I am writing you this now because I am but one old woman,’” _ Minerva continued reading,  _ “‘--and I can’t predict how the battle will proceed. I chose to leave my happy life after losing my husband of many years because I became convinced it was possible to save Harry from his fate. My intention is to ensure that Harry fulfills the prophecy and has a direct hand in Voldemort’s death. I don’t intend to survive the battle. My research has told me that the Time Death that results from time travel is painful and permanent.’” _

“Very carefully phrased,” Remus whispered to Hermione. She turned to smile at him, letting out a long breath.

“The rest of the letter details possible methods of extraction if her plan failed and Harry survived the battle with a passenger,” Minerva said, rolling the parchment up. “Anyone who wishes to read it is welcome to, I can make copies.” She reached out a hand toward Harry. “It was with misgivings that I chose to read Febronia’s letter out loud to the group. The chances that her insights could be misinterpreted and place Harry’s life in danger are quite real, but there would have been an even greater scandal should the accusations be revealed to have been kept private. To paraphrase a Muggle saying, ‘Sunshine is the best Scourgify.’ Harry, would you like to say a few words?”

“Not particularly,” Harry said from the back row. A roar of laughter erupted as a result. After a quick cast of  _ Sonorous, _ Harry stood and tucked his wand away. “Dying hurt,” he said simply, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t expect to come back from it. I went out there anyway because Professor Dumbledore told me he suspected that there might be a link to Voldemort like the one Febronia’s letter said. I am grateful to everyone for the sacrifices you made to support me, and I’m sorry that I was able to come back when so many didn’t.”

“Thank you, Harry!” Dennis called out.

A flood of comments followed, and Harry blushed, looked uncomfortable, and eventually sat back down, canceling his voice amplifying spell.

Minerva cleared her throat from the resonant circle, tucking away a scrap of white cloth into a pocket of her robes. Remus was sure it was a handkerchief.

“I don’t think I have to tell you that Harry’s safety is important to the Ministry. Anyone seeking to ‘make sure’ that he’s free from any corrupt influences should look at their own actions, instead,” she said in a tight, severe voice. “We’ll move on to the next name.”

oOoOoOo

By the time they’d finished going through the names of the dead, the group had eaten both lunch and dinner and gone through a multitude of conjured and pre-existing handkerchiefs. Remus had been particularly touched by the actions of Luna Lovegood and Dean Thomas, who had stood to advocate for those too injured to attend. Dean had promised he would take the list of casualties and go around to visit each injured person to gather any stories that were missed. Luna had offered the use of her father’s printing operation to create a newsletter that compiled the stories together, so that there would be a record of them. Quite a few others had offered assistance to both.

As everyone filtered away to their own homes, a few core groups remained in clusters of chairs around the conjured fire which replaced the resonant circle. Remus sat with Sirius, far enough back that they were out of the smoke. Sirius was drinking directly from a bottle of Firewhiskey, and Remus was watching the interactions playing out among their friends closer to the fire.

Hermione appeared to be as popular as Harry was, and at first, Remus had felt a twinge of jealousy, because very early on, she’d hooked an arm through Ron’s and dragged him around with her. Then, Remus had sat forward a little bit and really paid attention to their interactions. 

Those interactions followed a predictable pattern, after a while; Hermione would be called over by one or two people who seemed excited to hear what she had to say. Hermione would drag Ron over, say a few things, and then push Ron forward to explain more completely. Then, Hermione would step back and watch, rather than speak, as Ron’s words drew rapt attention from his audience.

After a few repetitions of this, Remus noticed that Ron was holding himself more proudly, and speaking with more confidence. It occurred to Remus then that Ron had been deeply involved in all of the hard work behind the scenes while looking for and destroying the Horcruxes. The very concept of them had been a necessary secret, though. Even now, Remus was certain that most of the survivors had no real idea of their importance, now that Voldemort was defeated. They’d seen him fall at Harry’s hand, and that was the important part to them. What was a fragment of intangible soul versus that sight? But out of the three friends, Ron was the most insecure in his position, and his was the least visible, in the end. Hermione seemed to be trying to change that, and it made Remus’s heart fill nearly to bursting to watch it play out.

“It was touch and go for a while there, but I’m really glad to see that you’re happy again,” Sirius remarked after a long swig of Firewhiskey.

“Thank you,” Remus said quietly. 

The weight of knowing about Iraja while Sirius didn’t was uncomfortable, and he decided that it was worth the possible consequences to say something. Perhaps, he thought to himself, he could do it in a way that wasn’t as obvious.

“Did you ever notice that Hermione has a pendant on a chain that she always wears?” he said, trying to keep from seeming like what he was saying had any particular importance. Sirius’s response was an affirmative-sounding grunt. “Have you ever seen it?” Remus pressed.

“No, actually.”

“That’s odd, right?” Remus said, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“I guess so,” Sirius responded. He tipped his head back and finished off the bottle, tossing it in the air and whipping out his wand to cast a spell banishing it before it could hit the ground and shatter. “Still got it!”

“Never change,” Remus laughed.

“Why do I have a feeling that the reason you’re able to get so thoroughly drunk is that you don’t have the ability to count your bottles, after doing that?” Hermione said coming over with a laugh of her own. 

Remus reached for her, feeling selfish for his momentary jealousy and yet still needing unspoken reassurance for it. Instead of taking his hand, Hermione came closer and sat on his lap, leaning against his chest as he slid back in his chair in pleased surprise.

“Your problem is that you think there needs to be a reason to get drunk,” Sirius pointed at her. “So, Moony tried to get me to guess why you’re hiding a necklace, and I’m too drunk to be tactful about it but not drunk enough to miss the hints.”

Remus facepalmed as both Sirius and Hermione looked at him intently. When he lowered his hand, he met her eyes and saw understanding there. Then he watched, both surprised and not surprised by her next action, which was to pull the pendant out from inside her shirt and hold it up where Sirius could see it.

_ “Fuck,” _ Sirius said, falling back into his chair. “Definitely too drunk for this.” He reached out and took her hand with a grip that was too rough, based on the wince that Hermione tried to hide. “I used to make wishes on stars all the damn time,” Sirius said. “I figured one or two had to work. I was named for one, after all. They were all selfish. I wished for Regulus to be in Gryffindor with me. I wished James’s parents were my real family. I wished that I could have James and Lily back so I didn’t have to be in Azkaban.”

Remus didn’t think he would categorize  _ all _ of those as selfish, but he wasn’t about to interrupt.

Sirius was still talking, his voice earnest and only slightly slurred. “Every single wish was about me, even the ones that referred to other people, all except for one. Know what it was?”

Hermione shook her head, and out of sight of Sirius, she squeezed Remus’s hand so hard it was his turn to wince.

“I wished that Iraja didn’t really die, so Remus could be happy. He deserved to be happy, after everything he dealt with. Losing her was so hard on him,” Sirius said. He looked at Hermione and Remus for a long minute, long enough that Remus wondered if Sirius had managed to forget anything else he’d planned to say. “I am drunk enough that I’m not sure of my own conclusions,” he finally admitted. “But: did my wish come true?”

“Your wish came true,” Hermione whispered, still squeezing the life out of Remus’s hand.

“I’m glad,” Sirius said, standing up. He looked up at the sky full of stars above them and turned back to grin at Remus. “I’m gonna find another falling star tonight if it kills me. There has to be some other wish I can get granted!”

He was playing it up, Remus thought as he watched Sirius walk away, his head tipped back, face turned up at the array of stars above them. Sirius wasn’t as drunk as he appeared, but then, he never was until he was completely passed out, and the time between the two states never lasted for more than ten seconds. But this time, Remus was sure that Sirius had left them not because he  _ really _ wanted to find another star to wish on, but because he wanted to leave Remus and Hermione to themselves. 

It was as touching a gesture of friendship as Hermione’s towards Ron, and Remus told her as much.

“Oh,” Hermione said, her blush only visible when the fire flickered brightly. “Well, Horcruxes  _ are  _ complicated, and he  _ does _ explain them rather well.”

“Of course,” Remus murmured.

“Everyone wanted to talk to me about Febronia, and to Harry about what it was like to die, so it seemed to make sense to have Ron--”

Remus interrupted her with a kiss. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I see everything very clearly, especially tonight,” he said, after they’d moved apart again.

“You do?” she said, her face obscured by the dim light and the press of curls affected by gravity. He pushed them aside gently with both hands, brushing his thumb across the place where Iraja’s scars had been.

“I do. You and I have a responsibility.”

Now her eyes lit up with curiosity. “Oh?”

“Yes,” he said. “You have a propensity for time travel. It’s only responsible for us to seek to live the happiest, most well-adjusted life, so that you won’t feel compelled to do so again.”

Hermione leaned down against his chest and curled her legs up on his lap, curling her arm around his middle. “That’s a very sensible way to look at it,” she said.

He looked down at her. “Sensible boring or sensible attractive?”

“Sensible  _ sexy,” _ she said, arching up to kiss his neck. “Only you could come up with a moral, conscientious argument for why we should live a long, happy, fulfilled life together so as to avoid any magical complications!”

“With lots of research,” Remus said, leaning his head down to nuzzle her with his nose. “And hands-on experiments.”

To his surprise, Hermione gave him a quick kiss and stood up. Her expression was impish. “Does that include field experiments?” she asked, taking a few steps toward a clearing he could see about fifty yards away. She held out her hand.

“You’ll be far too busy to search for falling stars to wish on,” Remus warned her in a low voice, taking her hand and pulling her close to bury his face in her hair for a few seconds.

“I have everything I would have wished for anyway,” she answered, arching up on her tiptoes for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Thank you everyone for coming with me on this journey. I loved the idea of having not just one section with a non time traveling PoV character, but two. Throughout the whole story, the reader is actually the person who knows the most about what's going on, despite the twist with Febronia. It's especially poignant when it comes to the Malfoy Manor attack, when Hermione is so convinced that if she only hadn't muted Bellatrix, she wouldn't have chosen to carve letters in anybody.
> 
> If you like my writing, please feel free to check out my other Remus/Hermione stories or give my Remus/OC story a chance. I feel like there's a lot to explore in the idea of a book reader's perspective of being thrust into the HP universe, and despite that being the plot for many a terrible Mary Sue, I think mine defies the expectations of that particular trope. Plus, Remus needs all the love possible, and Sirius is irrepressible.
> 
> Thanks again for your comments and kudos.


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